Collar Two Point Six
by Miran Anders
Summary: My AU foray beyond Under the Radar, which started as a story to keep me occupied during hiatus. A friendship struggles as Neal finds his future path.  Spoilers for everything up to S3, no slash. AU but in character.
1. You Lie, In Faith

Okay… so I can't keep guessing in my canon series of tags (_'Collar Stays'_), because I want to keep those true to the series (mostly!). And it's a long time until summer and I really _want_ to guess… so here goes. Thanks to Petruchio for the title… my own little amusement. Shakespeare is good for quotes.

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_**WHITE COLLAR: SEASON 2.6: You Lie, In Faith**_

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Neal opened the door of his apartment and managed not to slam it shut behind him. _Damn it, Peter. You couldn't even give me a chance. Not a shadow of a doubt in your mind –_

He stopped abruptly when he saw the card on the table, the key weighing it down. A frown creased his forehead as he read it, and he stared in puzzled thought. _'You'll thank me'_… who was playing with him now? And what would he find?

The con man almost laughed. His absolute first thought was that it could be a trap, and that he should call in the team. The _team_. _Right. I've been working with the FBI for too long. I was beginning to believe they'd actually care if I walked into a trap right now. Hell, Peter would probably be relieved if I got myself killed._ Looking up, he saw the reflection of a very angry young man in his windows. The reflection stared for a while, before giving him an exasperated look. _ Okay, so maybe not relieved…_ With a resigned breath, he pocketed the key and left for the storage unit.

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Fifteen minutes later he turned the key and walked into the large, dim storage room. For a moment his eyes refused to adjust, or perhaps simply refused to see.

A King's ransom. A treasure. All of it, far more than he had seen in their short visit to the ship, more than he imagined possible.

At first, all he could do was turn and stare, not even able to catalog it with his usual quick mind. He glimpsed a painting that he was sure he had seen in an ancient book… a necklace that could have been from the Portuguese crown jewels stolen by pirates in the 1700's… but it was all too much, far too much. He couldn't quite believe it wasn't a wishful dream, but he wasn't waking up. He turned again.

A swelling joy began somewhere in his chest and was rising fast. _It was safe! Not destroyed. All this beauty, all this art… All of it. It was safe. The world hadn't lost some of its most precious things; shining proofs that man was more than a worm crawling on the face of the earth. _

_Wait till Peter sees this –_

He turned again, and his eyes widened slightly. There, between two stacks, was the one treasure in this whole of massed wealth that he recognized. The one that he had searched for. That he knew _exactly_ the value of. Blue eyes grew brighter as he smiled a strange smile, almost unbelieving, certainly unsure, but hopeful beyond anything else.

He stood, holding his breath, a sculptured addition to the horde, until the pounding of his heart made it difficult for him to hear the name he whispered softly, almost fearfully.

"Kate?"

The woman stepped out of the shadows and came to him slowly. "Surprise."

He reached out hesitantly, touched her shoulder with his fingertips, and then pulled her into his arms with an almost animal gasp. "God, Kate. I thought you were dead. But I knew, I was hoping, somehow –"

She pulled back, touched his lips with her finger to quiet him. "Shh." She gave a smug little grin and kissed him. Then he seemed to come to himself, and kissed her passionately, his fingers threading through her dark hair as he wrapped his other arm around her, seeming unable to hold her tightly enough. For a time they embraced, until Neal stopped, looked at her again, taking her face in his hands as if he would memorize every detail of her. His eyes filled as he shook his head.

"I thought – I thought you were dead. Why didn't you tell me? How –"

"Easy, handsome," she said softly. "I couldn't let Adler know. I had to follow what he was doing, and if he knew I was alive –"

"But you could have sent me something, some clue…"

"Not with Burke watching your every move." She looked over his shoulder as if the agent would materialize right there in the storage unit, and a bauble caught her eye. "Look at this!" She slipped from his arms and pulled him over to a vase draped with jewels. "Can you believe this one? Look at the size of it." Holding a sapphire the size of a quail's egg, her eyes were bright and excited, and she looked almost like a child on Christmas morning.

Neal grabbed her by the arms and turned her to face him, trying not to scream. "Kate. I thought you were dead. Can you imagine how that _felt_? I… I thought I'd never see you again..."

The woman pulled back slightly and looked at him. "I wasn't trying to hurt you, Neal. I was trying to get past Adler. For _us_." He frowned, and she looked surprised. "Can't you believe me? Just look around you!" She made a sweeping gesture. "What else would I have to do to prove it?"

A strange echo in his mind made him blink, and he spoke more softly. "I just can't believe you're here."

She laughed happily and kissed him again. "Well, I am. At least for a few minutes."

"What?" The shock in his face was almost painful. "What do you mean? We can –"

"Neal. Easy. We're not out of the woods yet." She rubbed her hands across his chest. "Until this cools down a little, I need to make myself scarce, and we can figure out the best way to move it all again. The FBI is watching you like a hawk, as I'm sure you know. Besides, there are some goons who think I owe them a percentage of all this, and they're trying to find me."

With that expression, if it were another era, he would have drawn a sword. "Who? We can –" he kicked himself mentally as he realized there was no 'we' to back him up now – "_I'll_ protect you." And then, his con man senses finally kicking in a bit, he added, "And why do they think you owe them?"

She laughed. "You don't think I managed all this myself, did you? Although I did do most of the arrangement…" She took his face and kissed him. "I learned a lot from you." Backing away, she spun slowly, taking in the treasures surrounding them. "The most amazing heist ever." She laughed again, grasping his hands and swinging him around with her in a circle.

Neal couldn't help but laugh with her, then hugged her again, hard. "Where will you be?"

"I'll find you. It's safer."

"Kate…"

"Neal." She tapped the end of his nose with her index finger, and smiled. "Trust me, I'll be back." Her eyes grew serious for a moment. "I really am alive." Then she kissed him again, long enough to prove it. She giggled and slipped out the door, pausing only to throw a golden chain studded with emeralds into her bag. Looking back over her shoulder, one blue eye winked. "Just in case!"

Then she was gone.

Neal looked around the room, at the treasures there, and stared at the door. _Did that just happen? Was she really_… his fingers strayed to his lips, and he could still feel her warmth on his skin. In his pocket was the card, the key she left him. It was real. She was real. She was _alive_… and everything could go back to normal.

Whatever that was.

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Elizabeth watched as Peter tied his tie in the hall mirror. He tried twice, swore softly, and looked like he might strangle himself when she calmly walked over, took his hands away, and tied it for him. He gave up trying to glare and sighed as she smiled up at him. "Thank you."

She gave him a grin. "No problem, sweetheart." They had been up late, Peter telling her the details of what had happened at the docks the day before, telling her in painful detail of his suspicions and Neal's angry exit. Then he had been awakened early by a nightmare, and she had been unable to sleep again. Instead, she stayed awake, keeping an eye on him.

She checked her hair in the mirror and picked up her bag, hesitating just a moment before asking. "Will you see Neal at the office?" His shoulders dropped as he turned to look at her.

"I called while you were in the shower and told him to stay away today."

"So you talked?" She sounded so hopeful that he felt like a heel.

"No. I left a message with the guard posted at June's."

"Oh." Elizabeth was trying hard to stay out of this, hoping that, like so many times before, Neal and Peter would find their way through to the other side. "Well, maybe it's good for you two to have some time, then…"

"Yeah. Like four to ten years." He pulled on his suit coat and straightened his collar.

"Peter…"

Her husband looked at her, and his gaze softened. "El, I just don't know what to think."

"I know."

He leaned on the wall. "Alex was with us most of the time."

"And Mozzie, well… Mozzie wouldn't do that."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle at her confidence in the little con man. "And I suppose Neal is innocent as the driven snow as well?"

She looked up at him, her eyes flashing just a bit. "You know how I feel, Peter. I don't think Neal was pretending all this time. I have a _little_ more faith in my ability to read character than that –"

"But El. _ Con man_!"

"And I have far more confidence in _your_ ability to read a suspect. Peter, you know how hard he's been working with you."

The agent sighed. "I would like to believe –"

"No, no you wouldn't. You're _afraid_ to believe, because you don't trust yourself. You know how close you two have become, and you're afraid it's affecting your judgment. You're making him guilty until proven innocent, because you're afraid you'll overlook something just because it's _Neal_. You're being as hard on him as you would be on yourself… because frankly, you're afraid that you failed him somehow. That this is your fault." She stopped, softened her statement by walking to where he leaned and kissing his cheek. "Sorry. That was harsh."

He pulled her into a one armed hug and kissed her head. "Only because it might be true." They looked into each others eyes for a long moment, and he shook his head, leaning it back against the wall again. "I tell you, El, when he told me he had a room full of his own paintings, I actually was thinking how nice it might be to put a showing together for him. You know, to give him a focus that used his artistic talents, got him some attention for them. Then he goes and burns them all to cover the robbery –"

"Wait." Peter stopped at her interruption, looked at her again. Elizabeth was frowning thoughtfully. "When was it he told you he had a room full of paintings?"

"Day before yesterday, when –" He stopped, looked at her, brown eyes wide. "Damn."

"What?"

"I had no idea about those paintings. Why would he have let that slip if he were planning to use them as cover? If I didn't know he had a pile of painted canvases, I wouldn't have put it together…"

Elizabeth nodded comprehension. "You're right! There's no reason… so how did they get there?" She looked uneasy, and Peter's response was quiet.

"Someone wanted him framed." Peter stared at the wall, then wrapped his wife in a hug. "It's a possibility. It's certainly possible... Thanks, El." He brushed a kiss over her head. "You are, and always will be, my best consultant."

"And such a bargain," Elizabeth smiled up at him. "I'll collect later." They kissed, and she cupped his cheek in her hand. Softly she whispered, more seriously, "Good luck, hon."

"Thanks. I'm pretty sure I'll need it."

"And Peter? For my sake? Try to take it easy... on _both _of you. You're both good men."

He opened the door and their eyes met, the mutual warmth undeniable. "I'll do what I can." A warm smile lit his eyes. "Love you."

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In the early afternoon Elizabeth Burke walked across the small park, bag in hand. Someone had left a message for a lunch appointment, and she was pretty sure she knew who it was. As she reached the table beneath the trees, she opened the bag, took out two sandwiches and two cups of tea. By the time she was done, a man was sitting across from her.

"Excellent taste, as usual, Mrs. Suit."

"Thanks, Mozzie. I had to guess." She passed him a napkin. "Is Neal okay?"

"I was hoping the Suit knew something. I haven't talked to him since…"

"Oh." Elizabeth sounded disappointed, and bit her sandwich thoughtfully. "It's just so hard to watch, every time they're at odds... Moz? Do you think they'll be able to get past this one? Or are they just _fated_ to keep on banging heads, over and over… until someone finally breaks? It seems that every time..." She put down her sandwich and stared at it for a moment.

The little man took a sip of tea and shrugged. "_Men at some times are masters of their fates; the fault,_ dear Elizabeth_, is not in our stars, but in ourselves…_"

Elizabeth looked at him and couldn't help but smile at the distorted Shakespeare, sipping her tea. Then she took a deep breath. "Who'd want to frame Neal?"

Moz snorted. "Who wouldn't?"

"I mean it, Mozzie. Who would go to these lengths…" Her gaze grew distant as she paused, thinking of conversations she'd had with her husband about this very subject. "Someone who knew him this well. I mean, the paintings… someone would really have to know that he had those, that he painted enough to…"

Mozzie stared into his cup as if he could read the future in his tea. He took a deep breath and blew it out. "Someone who knew him really, _really_ well, and really, _really_ wanted billions of dollars in treasure." He locked eyes with Elizabeth and the words tumbled out quickly. "I sincerely hope it isn't who I think it may be."

They stared at each other for a long minute, before El replied with a sigh. "_Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us_." They smiled at the Shakespeare lightly before looking away, each in their own thoughts of what might be; each concerned not only with two distinct individuals, but with a broken partnership.

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**_...You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate, _**  
**_And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst ..._**

_unsure, the author asked humbly for her readers opinions…_


	2. Brave, O'erhanging Firmament

**_Collar 2.6: This Brave, Overhanging Firmament  
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Special Agent Peter Burke was half an hour late - and looked later than that - as he walked wearily into his office at the FBI. He leaned over to turn on his computer, checked his phone for messages, and shuffled through the documents in his 'in' box without really seeing any of it. After yesterday, after the nightmares, after his talk with El and his second message to the guard at June's - there was only one thing really on his mind, and it took up all the space there was. _Or,_ he thought ruefully, _it certainly made everything else fade into the background._

_I have to talk to Neal. _

What that conversation would reveal or what problems it would cause were secondary at this point. His partner was involved in something, and for better or worse, he had to find out. It was his _partner_ he was talking about. There were certain things you did for your partner. It was about trust. It was about backing each other up. It was _Neal_.

_Damn_. Peter rubbed his eyes until he saw stars and stood abruptly, making himself dizzy and not caring. He actually staggered a step, stabilized himself with the fingertips of one hand on his desktop, and waited for a moment for the blackness to clear. _ Hell. I have to talk to him just so I don't have any more nightmares about it. If I don't get some real sleep … _ He shuddered as dream-transformed images of sudden death flashed across his mind, and turned to stand at the window, looking out over the city he loved so well. _ I just hope I got enough sleep to figure this all out…_

Of course, it all depended on Neal. If there was any truth in what Peter feared when he saw the shred of Neal's painting burning outside the warehouse, Neal might not show up at all. _ I mean, come on, Burke. If you had a couple billion in your pocket, would you worry about work?_ He almost laughed as the voice in his head answered, instantly, _yes, if there was something important to do…_ He shook his head as his conscience piped up, unwanted.

Alright. If Neal _was_ involved somehow, or if someone close to him was… For the hundredth time, he went over the list in his mind.

_Mozzie, no way. _ The little man might be involved, but not behind something that big. _He'd be too afraid there was Hitler DNA imbedded in the work. Or alien spores_. Alex… well, if she was involved, it was with help. She had been with them most of the time, and while Peter didn't trust her, she really seemed to have a soft spot for Caffrey. Almost more, it seemed, than Kate had. _ Although, she would have had overnight to move things… _ Peter sighed, and his mental list went on. Keller might have tried to lure him back into the fold. The agent shook his head, angry at just the _thought_ of Keller. One of these days someone was going to have to get as determined to put Keller away as he had been to get Neal, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be him.

He looked out the window. _Could be any of them, really. Or _anyone_ in the file full of known associates I have from the original case study… or anyone down there on the street… _

He rested his head against the glass, not yet warm from the early sun. The other side of the argument, unfortunately, was just as dependent on his partner's state of mind. After their altercation last night, if he _was_ completely innocent, Neal might just decide that it wasn't worth it. He could just vanish, _again_, and then Peter would have a whole new job description. He rubbed his eyes again, and some bit of Neal's humor touched his thoughts. _Well, if it happens, I'll just find him again… third time's a charm. _

The agent tried to tell himself it was the lack of sleep that made him suddenly sad at the thought of losing contact with the charismatic, intelligent man who had become not only his best consultant – he had become his best friend. Elizabeth had joked affectionately about it the night before last at dinner, calling them 'partners in crime' when Sara asked what kind of relationship they had. He shook his head, feeling helpless. Everything depended on Neal.

A knock on his office door made him turn too quickly, with hope flashing briefly in his eyes. It was Jones, who looked almost embarrassed as Peter waved him in. "Sorry, Peter."

The agent shrugged, showing no obvious distress. "For what? What's up?"

Jones let it slide, but Peter could tell. He wondered that the team seemed to know, as was often the case, far more than they were told. He wondered if that was a good or a bad thing - and hoped for the good. The younger agent questioned him with a seemingly casual expression. "I wondered if you knew where Neal was."

Peter stared at him, and a slight frown betrayed his tension. "I have no idea. Did you check the tracker?"

"The tracker? Ah –"

Burke frowned a bit more, his head tilting as he pulled back, puzzled. "The tracker. You know… on his ankle?" He felt anxiety building in his chest and tried to breathe past it. "Don't tell me he got out of it –"

"No, no, boss, it's not that, it's just – " Jones stopped, almost smiled in confusion at Peter's comments, but shook his head. "What I mean is, we know he's in the building, we just don't know where. He didn't leave, security would have seen him go out –"

"Wait. He's here?" Cursing himself for how anxious his voice sounded, Peter took a moment to center himself, spreading the appearance of calm over his tension like a tablecloth _over_ fine china.

Jones nodded, genuinely surprised that Peter didn't know. "He was in before I was. Diana saw him. She said he looked like –" Clifton stopped, decided to go the more professional route. "She said he was working on those files you left for him last week, but seemed restless."

"Restless?"

"Yeah, you know Neal. The king of patience. Always more comfortable when he's up to something." The younger agent nearly bit his tongue. "Doing something, that is. You want to talk to Berrigan?"

Peter looked around the office, pushed his jacket back and put his hands on his hips. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. Send her in, will you?"

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Diana tapped on the door as a formality, since Peter was waving for her to come in as soon as she approached. "Hey, Peter." Her demeanor was subdued, not quite knowing what to expect after Jones' quickly whispered description of their boss's state of mind. "What do you need?"

Peter was sitting at his desk, at least looking like he was focusing on his work. "Good morning, Diana. I understand Caffrey is here?"

"He was here earlier – he seemed kind of distracted, frankly." _Kind of like you do, actually._ She blinked and kept her thoughts to herself.

Burke nodded, apparently noting things in files as he listened. "When did he leave?"

"I didn't really notice the exact time. I thought he was heading to the bathroom… he seemed out of it. Really tired." She paused a moment, thoughtfully, glancing back through the walls toward the bullpen. "When I was watching him, I think he read the same page five or six times, and then just dropped it, with his head in his hands." The beautiful agent watched her boss's expression carefully. "Have you talked to him since…" she tapered off as his eyes lifted from the desk to her. "Okay. Should I check with security again? He's got to be around, I think maybe he just needed some fresh air."

"Fresh air?" Peter's head lifted suddenly as he repeated what she said, and his eyes brightened, the nearest thing to a relieved smile since he got to the office softening his features.

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Confidential Informant. Neal flipped his FBI-given ID open and shut over and over as he sat back against the parapet wall. Ironic, how 'confidential informant' and 'confidence man' both had a 'con' in them. A bitter laugh escaped, just barely. _Just like me._ He sighed, ran his hand halfway through his hair and stopped, his hand clutching a handful of unusually unkempt curls as his elbow leaned on his knee.

When he finally reached his apartment the night before, he had received an anonymous text message.

_do everything normal for at least three days. play nice, keep suspicion down. making plans. love you, talk soon. K_

He had tried, of course, to call her back. There was no answer, and he had very little doubt that the phone she had used was now in a garbage can somewhere…_ hell, I taught her that one myself. _ He looked up for a moment, the blue of his eyes reflecting the cloudless morning sky.

_It shouldn't be this nice out,_ he thought. _It should be dark, with rain, and hail beating holes in cars. Wind should be whipping through the streets, making the trees cry in the park. It shouldn't be sunny, and bright, and have all the appearance of being a beautiful day…_

His gaze dropped down to the surface he was sitting on. At least it had the decency to be gray. Dirty gray, and dismal. It gave him an odd, fleeting comfort.

There was pea gravel here on the roof, and it was some sign of his mental state that he was sitting down on it in a Devore suit. Even if he wasn't the one who paid for it, it was hardly respectful of June's generosity… He shook his head and picked at one of the small stones, tossing it half-heartedly. _June. Someone else I'll have to answer to if I leave. Play nice. Right._

_I have to talk to Peter._

Here he was, knowing the woman he loved was alive, was somewhere near – and yet never in his life had he felt so alone. If Peter could only calm down enough to listen to him, to hear what he had to say…

_Right, Caffrey. And what are you going to tell him? Have you figured out that little detail yet?_

He found he was stacking the gravel in a little circle, as if he were building a tiny fort. He stared at his fingers as they worked absently, unable to think clearly, unable to decide anything. _If Peter could just –_

One more row of stones raised the height of his castle to three inches, and Neal stopped for a moment, rolled two pebbles against each other in his hand. So much depended on Peter, and what he was going to bring to the table. When he was a loner, he could do anything. He didn't need anyone's approval or advice. When had that become part of the equation? When had he given so much of his power away?

_When you broke the law, smartass. Or more to the point, when you got caught._

Neal angrily brushed the miniscule fortress away. The last thing he needed was his own conscience ganging up on him.

He pulled his knees up closer and crossed his arms, resting his elbows on his knees, and then resting his head on his forearms. _It's still up to me, I still have options. I could run_, he thought. _ I could just…_ the force of the shuddering breath entering his lungs startled him. The adrenaline rush – not of excitement, but of abject fear – had his heart pounding. He took another breath, deeply, trying to will the sick tension away. Maybe he was getting too old for the con, maybe he had tasted other aspects of an honest life that were unlike anything he had expected when he was living on the other side. _ I could stay._ He thought about Elizabeth, and June. He thought about the team – how Diana, and even Jones were getting easier and easier to work with, instead of around. He thought about Peter, several floors below where he was sitting, and exhaled bitterly. He thought, for the first time in hours, about Sara. _I could jump._

Neal pounded his head lightly on his arms as he sat there, feeling the emotions swirling recklessly within. _But Kate. There was Kate…_ he saw her in his mind's eye, beautiful, smiling, alive. Stretching out open arms to welcome him back to his old life. _I could just let her figure out what we're going to do next… I could -_

- and even in his imagination, there was the face of his partner, looking not angry or sad, but worse than both. Disappointed. When had this man become the barometer for how well Neal was doing with his life? He could practically feel him there, just imagine him saying-

"Is there room for one more on this roof?"

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_...please feed the author..._

_...it's very quiet out here_...


	3. A Heart Unspotted

_********__Collar 2.6: __** A Heart Unspotted**_

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Neal lifted his eyes slowly at the sound. A shadow lay over the rooftop, spilling across the gravel like an inkstain in the bright morning sun. _How distracted am I, when I don't know someone is coming after me in broad daylight? I'm getting soft. Losing my touch…_ He had no desire to look farther, and rested his forehead back on his arms with a bitter sigh.

There was nothing to say to the man. Not now.

He heard the crunch of gravel this time, footsteps moving closer to where he sat hunched a few feet from the corner of the parapet wall. He heard a sigh as well, and felt the man come close enough to set something down next to where Neal was sitting. Glancing out through the crook of his elbow, the con man saw - a cup of coffee. He lifted his head, puzzled, and stared at it as if it were a rattlesnake.

"Don't worry. No sugar."

The man's voice, while still gravelly, was quiet, softer than usual. When Neal didn't respond, he sipped his own cup, then sat down on the roof next to him, leaning on the cornering wall and putting down a bag. With the practiced ease of a hundred stake-outs, Peter pulled a couple danish out of the bag and turned it into a makeshift picnic blanket, pinning down a couple napkins with the largest pieces of gravel he could find.

Neal finally lifted his eyes to look at the agent as he sat there, and found the man was staring off into space. Occasionally sipping his coffee, but saying nothing. After a moment, Peter spoke, hesitant, still in that unusually soft voice.

"Can we talk?"

Neal stared at him, thoughts of Kate and a roomful of treasure crowding their way forward and being held back with great difficulty. Outwardly, he shrugged. "_You_ can."

Peter nodded. "Fair enough." He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I guess I have less to hear and more to say at the moment."

Abruptly he turned his head and looked at Neal, the sudden eye contact opening old doors that slammed shut almost as quickly. The FBI agent opened his mouth, closed it again, and put down his coffee. Carefully he unsnapped his holstered gun from its customary place at his side, and laid it down near the danish. Neal raised an eyebrow, looking from the weapon to Peter. Ignoring him for the moment, the agent then took out his ID badge, and tossed it with much less care down next to the gun. He looked back at Neal, then loosened his tie, rested his head back against the parapet wall and stared off into the distance once more.

"I don't want to be an agent right now."

_"_Yeah, good luck with that."

"I don't know if you'll listen, but I hope you'll hear me."

Neal shrugged a grimace.

"I broke a rule."

Neal's tongue got the best of him, and he replied sarcastically. "Well, you have so many, I'm sure it's a full time job."

Peter didn't take the bait; instead, he nodded. "Yeah. I need the rules. Because I tend to follow my heart, or my gut… if it weren't for the rules, I don't know where I'd be. Dead, maybe." Burke picked up a few pieces of gravel, and began, unknowingly, to build a tiny fort very similar to the one Neal had brushed away not fifteen minutes before. "I know I wouldn't be a very good agent."

Neal watched the circle of stones grow, and picked up the coffee. He grudgingly took a sip, and looked over at Peter, involuntarily. Peter caught his look and nodded. "Stopped on the second floor. Carpenter has the good stuff in his office, and I know you…" He tapered off, seeming to find speech more difficult. Neal took another sip of the fine Italian roast, and couldn't help himself. He'd never seen Peter look quite so … unsure.

"What rule?"

Peter's eyes lifted to his, almost gratefully. Then he looked back down at the gravel and nodded several times as he spoke. "I forgot what it meant to have a partner. A real one."

"Oh?" Guilt, briefly, washed up on the shores of Neal's mind.

"Yeah. There are certain obligations. You don't turn on your partner. He's got your back, you've got his… no matter what. Without proof, you don't mistrust your partner. Unless you see it with your own eyes… " At this point Peter picked up a stone, studied it minutely, and then threw it with some venom as far as he could. "Or you shouldn't be partners at all."

Neal watched Peter carefully, all his attention now riveted. He could feel a storm in the air, and waited.

"I haven't had one in a long time… not since… well."

The younger man nodded, feeling a strange, uncomfortable empathy. "What happened?"

Peter looked him in the eye for a moment before looking away quickly. He picked up a stone from his fortress wall and threw it, sidearm, across the roof. Seeming to make a decision he looked back at Neal, his brown eyes deep as the ocean, and his very being radiating a sincere effort to keep the fragile peace between them. "I swear to you, this is not an indictment."

Neal frowned at him, unaccustomed to Peter being _quite_ this careful about saying something that might upset him. _Could be anything. Could be… oh._ He felt something click, and nodded. "Go ahead."

The agent watched him for a few seconds, calibrating his response. Then he took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. His gaze hardened as he stared into the distance at a far off memory.

"When I first started with the agency, I was partnered for a month with Richard Kastile. He was a couple years older than me, seemed like a good guy… had a girlfriend, a dog, a really nice apartment… the whole nine yards." He paused to sip his coffee, which was growing cold and a little bitter. "We were working backup on an insurance fraud case, and getting nowhere… " He put down his cup, and Neal couldn't help but notice his fist clench afterward as Peter's voice grew colder. "As it turns out, we were getting nowhere because he was shaking down our leads. Tell us that he'd followed up some information that went nowhere… but what was really happening was that, well, he was for sale. I only found out because one of our leads handed me an envelope full of cash. He figured I was in on it…"

Neal looked at him, stoically, a slight lift to his chin. "So. Your last partner was a dirty cop."

Peter sighed, not daring to look into those brilliant blue eyes, fearing the disgust he would see there. "That would have been bad enough. But what made it worse, what made it totally –" he brought his fist down on the fortress and it scattered into a meaningless heap. "The case got complicated. Some pretty unsavory characters got involved. There was a shoot out. Three people were injured, civilians, one died of complications on the table…"

Neal watched as Peter dropped his head, reliving the moment with pain in his eyes. "If I'd been on top of it. If I'd just known what was going on… but I wasn't keeping track of him. I just took it for granted that he knew what he was doing. And because I wasn't aware, because I didn't ask the right questions or notice the little things that were off, an innocent man died." Abruptly he turned to meet Neal's solemn gaze. The sheer intensity of his expression startled Neal, but he didn't move. When he finally spoke again, Peter's words came out stilted, measured; as if he wasn't sure he had his voice under control.

"Every time something happens with you, when I don't know what's going on, and _realize_ that I don't know what's going on – every single time, my brain, my conscience jumps to '_someone's going to die, Burke, and it'll be your fault again_.'" He stared for a moment, then blinked, dropped his head back against the wall and rubbed his hands over his face. "And most of the time I'm afraid it'll be you." For a while it was silent, even the traffic noise of the city muffled at this height. Eventually Peter picked up his coffee again and took a drink, sighing quietly as he exhaled.

"Some people think it's a control issue. Maybe it is… I don't know anymore. I know it's my demon, and I know it gets in the way sometimes." He took a deep breath, and looked back at Neal. "I know I should give you a hell of a lot more than the benefit of the doubt when those moments hit. We've worked together long enough. You've been there for me, you've been there for the team, hell, you've even been there for El. I know, here," he hissed, slapping a fist against his chest, "that I can trust you with the important things." He looked almost forlorn for a moment. "And when I don't, it's because I don't trust my own instincts. And that scares the hell out of me."

Caffrey looked away, guilt and his own issues with genuine openness making him suddenly uncomfortable. Peter actually put a hand on the younger man's arm, making him look back in surprise.

"Neal. _I'm sorry_. I don't know what the story is yet… and God knows I may not like it when I hear it, for who knows how many reasons… but before we figure this out, _together_, I want to say I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you. I truly am. I honestly don't know what's going to happen next... but after everything we've been through, you deserve better."

Neal blinked at him, not knowing what to say. "Peter –" As difficult as it was to stand up to Special Agent Peter Burke when his eyes were blazing in anger, Neal abruptly realized that it was even more difficult when the man laid his power down, and looked at you with complete vulnerability. This was the man behind the doors, this was the man who was glimpsed so often in a soft word or a smile. This was the kind of _man _that gave the word definition. Neal swallowed hard. _Damn_.

Peter watched the conflicts in Neal's eyes, and waited. After a few moments, Neal gave him a nod. "Thank you."

Peter nodded back at him, dropped his hand to the gravel. Absently, as the quiet flowed back around them, he began building the fortress back up. Neal picked up a stone as well, and they silently built tiny walls as their emotions settled.

After a few minutes, Peter picked up the bag, packed the trash into it, and reached for his weapon. Neal's hand touched his forearm, and their eyes met again. The agent's eyebrows lifted, a look of concerned apprehension on his face.

Neal took a breath, tried to speak, stopped, and tried again, leaning into patterns of old, familiar charm. "You might want to hold off on being an agent again. At least for a few minutes."

Peter managed a wry grin. "Did you kill anyone?"

Neal looked a bit fearful that he might actually think that. "No."

The younger man looked so uncomfortable that Peter took pity on him. "But you know who switched out the artwork."

Neal stared at him, not speaking, not moving. Peter sighed.

"You not only know who switched it out, you know where it is?"

At that Neal tipped his head slightly to the side, opened his mouth to say something, and stopped. _You can be a con or a man_. "I don't think I can talk about it… yet." Peter began to say something but Neal cut him off. "Peter, believe me. I haven't done anything illegal." The unspoken _yet_ hung in the air between them.

Peter regarded him with some suspicion, but looked up into the sky, which was beginning to cloud over, and shook his head. "I'm looking into what would be illegal about recovering those pieces… you probably already know." He glanced over at his partner again. "I hope you realize that I killed a man. A scumbag, yes, but still a man. Whoever pulled this con risked your life, and put me in a position I never, ever want to be in."

Neal looked at Peter, the words coming out in a whisper. "Thank you. For saving my life."

Peter nodded solemnly, and there was a quiet, respectful moment. Before long, a tightening of his lips suggested he was trying not to grin. "I've put too much time in on you to let someone take you out."

"Other than you?"

"Right." They managed a brief smile at each other, a shadow of their old banter... or perhaps just the beginning of brighter days. "Did you know, Neal?"

"I wouldn't put you in that position, Peter. I didn't know anything about the art being moved..."

The agent sighed again. "But you do now."

There was a very long silence. Eventually Peter shifted to pick up his things, putting his gun in place, replacing his ID in his pocket. "When you can talk about it, I'll listen."

Burke stood, and was halfway to the rooftop door when Neal called out to him.

"Peter?"

He turned, looked back at Neal. "What?"

The younger man leaned his head back. "What if Elizabeth wanted you to do something… something you weren't sure you wanted to do?"

The agent rolled his head back. "Don't tell me Alex was behind this…"

Neal said nothing. A nothing that spoke volumes.

Peter stared at him blankly, until his eyes widened with sudden realization. "Oh, no. It couldn't –" he stopped, at a loss for words. Finally, his shoulders dropped, and he tried to sound reasonable. "What El wants me to do... Is it something I know is wrong?"

"You're not sure."

"Then 'no'. Stay on the safe side."

"Come on, Peter. For Elizabeth…? Elizabeth or the world, what's your choice?" Blue eyes were pleading for some kind of understanding, some kind of answers.

Peter watched his friend's torment for a long moment before nodding slowly. "If El pushed me to do something that I knew might be wrong…" he said, reaching out to put his hand on the doorknob, "Then I'd know she's not the woman I think she is."

* * *

oOo


	4. Doubtful Joy

I stay up too late. Ah, well... the boys keep talking in my head. What's a writer to do?

* * *

_**Collar 2.6: Doubtful Joy**_

* * *

When Neal finally walked back into the office, he stopped dead for a few seconds, looking around as if he wasn't sure where he was or what he came for. Then he blinked a few times, smiled as he straightened his tie just in case anyone saw his momentary lapse, and headed over to where Diana was standing and paging through a file, waiting for the coffee to brew.

"Hey."

Her eyes left the folder hesitantly, but smiled when she saw him. "Hey yourself. You and Peter finally talk?"

"Some." He gave her a tight smile in return.

"He seems to think things are a little better. Is he wrong?"

Neal shook his head. "No, things are a little better. Just… not _all_ better." He shrugged, and this time his grin was more honest. She nodded, closed the folder and picked up the fresh pot.

"These things take time. Glad you're talking, though. It gets odd around here when you two are at it."

"Sorry, _mom_…" He laughed at his own attempt at humor as she shook her head, her expression serious. Then she sipped her coffee, and her dark eyes were intense as she looked at him over the rim of her mug.

"Neal…"

"Yeah?"

"…I just want you to know," She stared at him, and he had the distinct feeling she could read things off the back of his skull. "You'd be missed if you weren't here. You're a real part of this team."

Neal's head jerked back a bit in surprise. "Well, thank you… I'm glad he didn't kill me, too." He gave her the charming smile, assuming he could gloss this one over.

Diana lifted an eyebrow. Without saying a word, she made it perfectly clear she wasn't talking about his near-death experience with Adler.

Neal swallowed, trying to keep the smile going and only marginally succeeding. It was amazing how many people these days seemed to care what he was doing, or was going to do… or what would happen if he did. He nodded again, broke eye contact with her, blue eyes suddenly finding the floor most interesting as he spoke quietly. "Thank you. That actually means a lot …"

As she walked away, he thought about his conversation with Peter, and how that was going to affect everything else. As if hearing his thoughts, a voice behind him spoke.

"I hope you didn't use up all the coffee."

He turned, nervously, and there the man stood. Holding a mug and sounding like everything was fine – although the expression in his eyes was clearly tentative and concerned. Neal reached for the coffee. "No, actually, Diana just started a fresh pot." He lifted the pot and filled Peter's mug.

Only the two of them noticed his hand was shaking slightly.

Agent Burke sighed. It had been a long day, and it wasn't even noon. "When you're done with whatever down here, I've got some files in my office I'd like to go over with you. Maybe after lunch?"

Caffrey nodded compulsively. "Sure. Yeah." He picked up a mug of his own and filled it before heading over to finish what he had started that morning. "Sounds good."

Peter watched him walk over, sit down, and compose himself before flipping open a file and settling down to work. The agent stood there for a moment, then shook his head and turned to walk back to his own office. It would have taken a very careful observer to see the sadness in his eyes.

oOo

That afternoon the two men sat across from each other in Peter's office, working diligently on organizing files at first, but eventually staring at papers that neither of them was actually seeing. Finally Peter, unable to take it any longer, broke the silence. He made no attempt to sound casual.

"Have you decided what you're going to do?"

Neal didn't even blink at the question. "Peter..." He looked at his friend, then out the window, then back to the desk. "Face it. If I hypothetically told you I was going to run, you'd throw me back in jail."

Burke tilted his head to one side. "If I hypothetically caught you running, I certainly would."

"Same difference."

"No." Peter leaned forward, his voice a bit more intense. "No, it's not. I want to know, Neal. Not as an agent. As your partner…" he faltered only briefly, "as a friend. Do you really want to go on the run again?"

Neal looked around the office, not quite believing they could have this conversation here. "I don't know how much running there would be. Hypothetically. I mean, if someone has enough money…"

"And is that enough?"

Neal laughed. "Seriously?"

Peter nodded, his dark eyes curious. He paused a moment, then tossed his pen down and leaned back in his chair. "El once said that she thought you didn't care that much about money. That it was just a way for you to keep score. That what really mattered to you was the ability to outsmart everyone else…" He watched as Neal registered that comment. Perhaps the fact that he quoted Elizabeth made a difference, because the younger man seemed to take it to heart. "So, hypothetically… if a con man got a huge heist –worth billions – then what happens?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," the agent said, thoughtfully, "he isn't really a _con man_ anymore, is he? He's just… a fence. Selling off stolen art as he needs the cash."

Neal bristled a bit. "Hypothetically, he could still make copies of some of the paintings… and sell them over and over to private buyers. He could make a fortune –"

"_Why_?" The word came out louder, a bit harsher than Peter intended, and Neal looked up at him, startled. "He _has_ a fortune. He has a _hundred_ fortunes. More money is meaningless. What is he going to do now to make him feel… worthwhile? Make him feel like a _man_?"

They stared at each other for a long time. Long enough for them both to think things through. Finally, Peter shook his head slowly, still looking his partner in the eye. He spoke in a bare whisper. "Neal. If you do run, you _know_ I'll come after you. I _have_ to."

The con man heard no anger in the words, no need for vengeance. It was simple truth. It also wasn't all about the job… this was a man who would go to the ends of the earth for the people that mattered to him. Who wouldn't let someone he called _friend_ throw his life away… Besides… he had caught him twice before.

Neal responded in a quiet voice. "I know."

And part of him that he couldn't quite acknowledge thought, even more quietly, _I hope you find me_.

They sat silently for a few minutes, until Peter sighed and picked up his pen once more. "Let's finish this up tomorrow."

"The files?"

Peter looked up at Neal, brown eyes showing just a hint of weary amusement. "Yeah. You'll still be here, right?"

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

It was past midnight.

Moonlight spilled into the bedroom, splashing lined shadows onto the landscape of tangled sheets; stealing the color from the burgundy patterned comforter and leaving it a deep, blood-tinged black. Sheer curtains drifted slightly in the breeze from a barely open window, billowing outward for a moment, then falling back to shroud the glass once more. The landscape of linens moved abruptly, as if an earthquake was shuffling the hills, and it seemed the land moaned in despair.

Neal turned fitfully in his sleep.

_He walked across the airfield, trying to feel excited about walking away from the new life he had found. Trying not to think about the people who were a part of that life. Trying, with little success, to recapture the man he was almost five years ago. Through a haze he heard Peter's voice._

_"Did I?"_

He felt his heart leap into his throat. Not, as it was that day so long ago, because his partner nearly had convinced him to stay; but because he had this particular nightmare so very often that he knew what was coming next. He turned this time, as he had so many times before, and ran for the plane.

_The explosion tore through him, stripped him to the bone, but couldn't stop him. He ran through the flames, digging through the rubble, found her, found her body. With a cry of anguish he lifted her up, clutched her to him as he sank to his knees, wanting only to end it there, knowing that no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't die in this dream, couldn't make her live…_

"Neal?"

_He looked down and saw her, damaged nearly beyond recognition, yet somehow speaking to him. He wasn't sure what was more horrible – the idea of her being dead, or the idea of her somehow still being alive in that condition. He gasped. "No… no…"_

She reached up and touched his shoulder, softly at first, then gripping it firmly. "Neal!"

_"Oh, God… Kate. Oh… no…" He was hyperventilating now, the pure adrenaline flooding his system to overload. _

She grabbed both his shoulders and shook him. "Neal. Wake up!"

Neal's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. With a gasp of air he stared at the figure in the dark who was kneeling on his bed, holding his shoulders and shaking him. "You're dreaming. Wake up, Neal. It's okay…"

He blinked several times in the dark, until his eyes adjusted and he saw who it was… alive… in his bed. It took a few seconds longer for the rest of his senses to adjust. "Kate?"

She smiled gently at him, her hands cupping his face. "Yeah, it's me. You okay?" She looked sincerely shaken by him, and he took a couple deep breaths before reaching out to pull her close.

"Oh…" He buried his face in her hair and held on.

"You kind of scared me there, handsome. Bad dream?"

"You could say that." There was no way he was going to tell her what it was about, or try to describe the horror that he saw her as for that brief minute. "Really bad."

"Sorry." She stroked his hair and kissed the side of his head. "You're okay now."

"Yeah." He pulled back and looked at her, then kissed her. "I'd ask how you got in…"

"But you know that's a secret," she said with a giggle and another kiss.

"Or ask how you got past the guys –"

It was her turn to pull back. "The guys?" Her expression tightened.

"Yeah. They've been watching me."

"You mean the FBI."

"Who else?"

She frowned lightly, her hand stroked down his cheek, and she shook her head. "You made it sound like - well... like they were with you."

He blinked a couple of times before giving her the charming smile, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "I guess I'm used to them being around."

Kate nodded, then untangled the sheets from his legs so she could lie down under them next to him. "Good grief. Looks like you were trying to run a marathon," she said, pulling the comforter back up and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I was running." He turned and looked at her. "Am I still dreaming?"

She laughed, and it made his heart sing. "Nope. I'm here. Until five thirty-seven."

Neal nodded. "Ah. You timed the coffee run."

"Exactly." Then she propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. "I hope I'm not disturbing you." Even Kate couldn't keep a straight face at his expression.

They made the most of the time they had.

oOo

At five-thirty, Neal awoke to the sounds of her dressing. "Kate?"

"Go back to sleep. I'll see you soon."

"Wait."

She turned back to look at him, his eyes shining in the still dim room. With a glance at her watch and a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed. "What's up?"

He watched her for a long moment, feelings conflicting in his heart and head. "What's next?"

She glanced out at the gray pre-dawn light and shrugged. "A shower? A nap?" She leaned over and gave him a kiss. "You wear me out."

He didn't return her smile. "Seriously, Kate. What were you thinking would happen now?"

The look she gave him was more confused than annoyed. "Neal, we had this planned out. If we made the big break, we take off, vanish, find an island, maybe… fence some of the small stuff, decide if we want to copy the best things… " Her head shook, her long hair tickling against his chest. "What's wrong, sweetheart? We've finally got it all…" She kissed him again, then traced her finger down his nose. "We've just got to get it out of here. I'm working that out."

"But…" He shrugged, pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "You need help?"

"I'm good. Just taking my time. You just keep being the good little informant for a few more days." With a graceful movement she was up again, slipping into her black jacket and checking her watch once more. "Oh, and I'm taking the key. Now that you've seen it all, I don't want them to find it on you." She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and secured it quickly. "Now I've got to run. See you soon."

"Kate –" She glanced back from the door to the roof. "I love you."

The last thing he saw was a Cheshire cat smile, fading into the gray light of dawn.

* * *

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

**_"Tis safter to be that which we destroy _**  
**_Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy."_**

_...please feed the author..._


	5. Mine Eyes Were Not in Fault

.

* * *

_********__Collar 2.6: Mine Eyes Were Not In Fault_

* * *

Peter glanced up from his desk with an instinctive distraction, not knowing why, but not particularly surprised when he saw Hughes escorting a tall blond woman toward the conference area. The scientific part of his brain assumed that the glass walls gave his peripheral vision all kinds of cues for his subconscious to take in, while Elizabeth, who had seen it happen behind closed doors, told him it was more of a telepathic connection. He grinned inwardly at the thought of her, keeping his eyes on the procession settling around the conference table. He looked at the woman again, and automatically catalogued her description.

She was certainly attractive, dressed in teal, a classy working dress that fit her like a glove. Her honey blond hair was pulled up and back, but still had a bit of a sassy flip over her brow. It was her expression, however, that sold him on his first impression – that this was no casual visit. _She's investigating something_.

He saw Hughes lean over the table and pick up the phone, and was reaching for his as it beeped at him. "Burke, can you join us?"

"On my way." As he left his office, he saw Neal in the bullpen lift his eyes in the same instinctive way. He shot his partner a look that had a side of 'don't know yet'. Neal nodded imperceptibly, and half a grin acknowledged their unspoken, across the room communication. Burke sighed as he turned and trotted up the stairs to the conference area. _At least he's still here._

It had been two days since the explosion, and Peter still had no idea what was going to happen. It didn't make any sense to put Neal in jail; he hadn't done anything wrong… yet. If they were going to lock him up for being a flight risk, they might as well never have gotten him out. The man's very existence was devoted to being a flight risk. So he kept Neal on some cases that had grown cold, knowing that the young con might see something others had missed… keep him inside, keep him busy. Peter glanced back over his shoulder at the top of the stairs and took a breath. _Or find something that makes him want to stay._ Something bigger than Kate. He nearly laughed, thinking of what might make _him_ stay if Elizabeth was leaving. Putting on his game face, he walked into the conference room.

"Special Agent Peter Burke, this is Angela Reed, a special agent with the FAA. She's looking into a case and I think your team is best equipped to help her out."

The special agents shook hands and Peter sat down opposite her. "Always glad to help another agency. What's the case, some kind of art smuggling? Antiquities?" He smiled, assuming a white collar crime and, because of his team being mentioned specifically, some kind of artistic involvement.

Agent Reed gave the slightest of frowns, and shook her head. "No, although that would certainly be more pleasant. Actually, I'm looking into an explosion…"

Peter's smile faded.

oOo

Neal flipped a page as he sat at the desk in the bullpen, tapped a name and grabbed a post-a-note. He wrote a possible alias on it, and stuck it to the file. _If I can just tie these two together…_

Diana glanced over his shoulder and leaned in to read. "Who's this?"

"That name showed up as a dummy for a safe deposit box in the last case this guy was involved with. If we're lucky, maybe he got sloppy and used it again." Neal threw his pen down and ran his hands back over his hair. "You know, if they'd told me there was so much paperwork involved, I might have stayed in prison."

Diana gave him a wry grin. "Hell, Caffrey, if _I'd_ known how much paperwork there was..." she left the sentence unfinished, and they smiled at each other broadly, showing more perfect white teeth between the two of them than should be allowed in one office. "Was that the bank manager, or the security manager?"

"Security. But he's at a conference in…" he looked at his notepad and flipped a few pages. "Atlanta. Back on Wednesday of next week."

"So he's not running."

Neal beamed a smug smile. "He doesn't know he has to."

"Perfect. Then we'll put him on the schedule for a visit next week." She patted him on the shoulder. "Good job, Neal."

The con man blinked at her, his mind suddenly racing. He'd been working extra hard this week, trying not to think about Kate, about what she might be doing, or about what he would do when she finally said it was time to go. While she had visited him again last night, she was reluctant to say anything about the future plans. He remembered the tail end of the conversation.

_"So… you don't trust me?"_

_"Neal, you know it's not that. I'm protecting you. If you don't know anything, you can't be doing anything illegal, and they can't lock you up before we're ready to make a break for it. You would do the same for me." She had leaned forward and kissed him. "You're the best. I'm only following your lead." The last was murmured into his ear as she nibbled it, and as usual, his mind faded from any thoughts of business. He struggled for one last moment of clarity._

_"Do you – do we have a timetable yet?"_

_"Right now, I'm hoping for a couple days. But don't quote me on it." She giggled wickedly, and there was no more conversation about plans that night..._

"You okay?"

Neal blinked again, and realized he had been staring at Diana, unmoving, while his mind replayed the whole conversation. He flashed the smile again.

"Just getting used to being one of the ones who come swooping in, instead of the one being swooped upon."

Diana chortled. "Right. You can be a rat, or you can be an eagle."

He nodded, covering his first response to the nearly-familiar phrase. "Absolutely." She walked away to get the paperwork for the warrants they would need to check out the security manager's offices, and he watched her go. _I can be a rat…_ A sudden odd feeling enveloped him, and he was hard-pressed to put a name on it. The closest he got was _homesick_, but he couldn't quite figure out for what.

He lifted his mug and realized that it was ice-cold. Giving the coffee a grim look, he stood to refill it – and saw Peter looking down in his direction. The agent's expression was solemn as he gave the two-fingered point-and-summon, and Neal frowned up at him questioningly. Peter barely shook his head, a slow blink the only show of how much self-control he was exerting.

Caffrey trotted up the stairs, and stood next to his partner, concern shadowing the brightness of his eyes. "What's up?"

"Neal…" Uncharacteristically, especially given their current state, Peter put one hand on his partner's shoulder. "We've got the FAA here. It's about the explosion on the airfield…" He watched as Neal's eyes widened slightly, and he sighed out a deep breath. "Of course they know we're connected with the case, and they're just tying up ends… but they've found some things… I wanted to warn you, just in case – well – " the agent looked down at the floor, up to his partner's eyes. "I just wanted to warn you. She says she has some pictures."

A look of confused surprise crossed the young con man's face, and was slowly replaced by one of genuine affection. "Thanks for the warning. I'm sure it'll be fine." He looked away and back, sincere emotions throwing off his usual demeanor. "Thank you."

The agent regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. Let's go." They walked into the room and Peter introduced him. "Angela Reed, this is Neal Caffrey, a consult in the white collar division. He's one of mine."

Neal caught the phrasing and felt oddly comfortable with it. Almost proud.

Special Agent Reed rose to formally greet him. "Mr. Caffrey."

"Agent Reed." He shook her hand, noticing the firmness of her grip as well as the flash of green in her hazel eyes. She was probably closer to Peter's age than his, but that didn't make her any less attractive.

Hughes took over. "Let's sit down." They did so, and Agent Reed picked up a leather satchel from beside her chair, pulled out a fat file, and opened it. She passed out copies to them as she organized her thoughts.

"Unfortunately, it's pretty straightforward. Traces of explosives, along with the detonator, were found. We already have your information on the sources of that…"she took a breath and exhaled, a little stiffly. "And I understand it's being handled internally, for the most part."

Hughes kept reading as he answered. "Yes. And the damages?"

"Amazingly enough, not much in the way of material loss, besides the plane itself. It's fortunate that it wasn't nearer the fuel depot."

Neal's eyebrows lifted. He hadn't considered that.

"In any case, we're at the point where we're looking into the deaths onboard… there were remains of two individuals found. Forensics have finally managed to connect them to some names –"

Neal felt the hair on his neck stand up. _Two_? His eyes darted from the paperwork to Reed and then to Peter, who was looking at him evenly. There was a question there, and Neal shook his head. Reed referenced her file, pulled out a couple files with pictures attached, and continued.

"…okay. Here we have the pilot, decorated former Air Force Lieutenant Jason Becker. Thirty-four, no criminal record that we can find… and here…" she shifted through the papers and placed another on the table next to the first. "His co-pilot. Erin Hagarty. Twenty-eight. Worked for TWA for a couple years, then went to the private sector, often shuttling food and chefs for the rich and famous set." She shook her head. "Must have been a lot of money for her to take a job like this."

She turned the ID photos around to face Peter, who frowned as he lifted the picture of the woman to look at it more closely. His expression changed from curious to confused, before settling into something that Neal recognized. With his eyes heavily lidded, the agent was trying to separate his emotional response from his duty.

The con man looked down at the picture of the pilot, anything being better than his partner's face at that moment. He scanned the information history, and then looked at the Air Force picture of Jason Becker. Blue eyes looked up at him, dark hair buzzed short. A winning smile. Neal shook his head as he realized the man was close to his age, and looked down at the later picture, a copy of Becker's pilot's license. It had been renewed in the last year, and Becker's hair was grown out somewhat, into thick waves.

Neal frowned, something tickling at his mind. He looked at the license again. Height, weight, eye color… it was oddly familiar. He looked back at Peter.

Special Agent Peter Burke was looking at the picture of Erin Hagarty with studied calm. Oddly enough, Caffrey was the only one in the room who could tell how much it was costing his partner to look that smoothly professional. For a brief moment he felt sympathy for his friend, and braced himself for what the pictures might hold.

In the background, Hughes and Reed were discussing technicalities of transferring paperwork. Neal put out his hand and waited for Peter to pass him the file.

He almost wished he hadn't. Peter's eyes, when he finally dragged them away from the page, fell so hard on Neal that it felt like a physical impact. Almost reluctantly, the agent carefully turned the page around, and held it out to Neal. It wasn't the scene of destruction that he had feared. In actuality, it was worse.

Erin Hagarty was a lovely young woman. Lovely. Tall and slender, Irish fair with blue eyes, and long, straight dark hair… Neal frowned suddenly, and blinked up at Peter, who was watching him with something nearing sympathy in his expression. The younger man felt his heart pounding, and swallowed hard.

_What was it Adler had said? He didn't kill Kate… the explosives were her idea…_

In the background, Hughes was thanking Reed, telling her they would cooperate in any way they could. Peter was watching his young partner trying not to hyperventilate, and made an excuse to Hughes, saying that he and Neal would get the paper they had together and send it as soon as possible to Reed.

_Something about how the Kate he knew would still be alive… was she? Did Adler know, even then, that she was still alive? Just who was the woman, the Kate he knew? What was she capable of?  
_

Neal didn't remember saying goodbye, or walking out with Peter. All he knew was the next thing he remembered was a glass of water in his hand, sitting in a quiet corner in the break room. A quiet voice said his name.

"Neal?"

He blinked up at the agent who had captured him, the agent who had saved him. "Peter. She … she was never on that plane."

"I know." Burke looked disturbed, but more so for Neal than anything else at the moment. "You okay?"

"She… she wasn't _ever_ on it. Peter. But she hired them…" He heard a heavy exhalation, and when he looked up, Peter had motioned Diana over.

"Can you take him home? He's not doing so well. I'd take him myself, but I've got to finish this up with Reed. I'd rather they didn't see him like this."

"Is he okay?"

_If she was the one who hired the pilots… she was the one who made sure they could be mistaken for us -_

Peter glanced at Neal and tried to ignore the fact that he was 'not lying' to Diana. "We had to look at some pictures from the explosion."

Her expression became instantly sympathetic. "Oh… sorry. Of course I'll take him."

Neal didn't remember much about leaving the building, about walking to the car, or about Diana driving him. He did remember asking her to take him somewhere other than home, and her not arguing with him about it.

_The face in the distant window… long, dark hair, fair skin… if Kate was the one who triggered the explosives because the FBI was coming…_

His brain was spinning, his heart was aching, and he needed, more than anything, to talk to someone, to tell them everything…

She made a quick call as she drove and he sat, his arms wrapped hard across his chest, almost hugging himself. They traveled in silence after that, until she dropped him off. "Do you need me to come in with you?"

He shook his head, dark curls wavering. "Thanks for driving me, Diana... I appreciate it."

Berrigan smiled sadly at him. "You take care, Neal."

_I should have been on the plane by then… she would have known I was on it…_

He walked up to the door and rang the bell.

The woman who answered took one look at him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him for a long moment before leading him inside. She walked him to the couch and they sat down, leaving a glass of wine on the table within reach. And she waited. And waited.

After a few minutes of trying to steady his breath, he gave up. His eyes lifted to hers, and the sadness she saw there made her reach out to him, her fingers resting gently on his shoulder. He took a shuddering breath.

"Elizabeth…"

She gave him an encouraging, sad smile. "It's okay, Neal. What happened?"

He leaned forward into her supportive embrace. "She… I just… I don't know if she was ever really there…" His voice caught, and something tore inside. "What if it was all a lie?" With a small sob Neal Caffrey dropped his head onto her shoulder and she held him, rubbing her hand across his back and making reassuring noises. "What if it was all just… just a lie?"

Elizabeth knew that sometimes, just being there was enough. She shifted so that she could hold him more securely, and whispered softly. "Maybe she didn't lie, Neal. Maybe she just didn't tell you everything."

And Neal Caffrey, con man, wept.

* * *

oOo

* * *

**_"Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; _**

**_Mine ears, that heard her flattery; _**

**_nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. _**

**_It had been vicious To have mistrusted her. "_**

_please feed the author…_


	6. As Flies to Wanton Boys

_Sorry it's taken so long..._

* * *

**_Collar 2.6: As Flies to Wanton Boys_**

* * *

It was Dante Haversham who stopped at the library on the way home to Saturday, trying to distract himself, but Joseph Mendelson was flashing the credit card when he wandered through a liquor store, picking over a few choice bottles. Half an hour later, Aaron Blackstone reluctantly used his corporate subway pass, then climbed up out of the bowels of the city a few blocks past Saturday and started walking in the wrong direction, just in case someone was watching - yet somehow kept walking. And walking.

That's why it was actually _Mozzie_ who found himself nearing the Suits house, trudging along the sidewalk, puzzled at his own behavior.

When it came right down to it, he was worried about Neal… and there were very few people he could talk to about those concerns. In fact, he could count them on one hand, with some breathing room left over. His expression grew more annoyed as he picked up the pace of his walking, and he muttered to himself. _When had he developed this bizarre trust, not to mention in a Suit? Of course, if it weren't for Elizabeth…_ _I mean, anyone who that woman could love that much… can't be _all_ suit._ With an exasperated sigh, he was reaching for his cell phone when a familiar Taurus pulled into the driveway not fifty feet in front of him, and the Suit himself got out and stared in surprise.

Peter Burke had left the office as early as he could, which wasn't that early at all. Berrigan had given him the word about dropping Neal off, and he was hoping – well, he was hoping a lot of things. When he saw the little man trudging up the walk, scarf bundled around his neck even in the warming weather, he narrowly avoided calling out his name in surprise. Instead, he stared down the sidewalk at him, then walked pointedly into the back yard and waited. Mozzie appeared in less than a minute, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Way to stare, Suit."

Peter couldn't help but tighten his jaw, trying not to let the exasperated smile escape. "Well, I was surprised. What are you doing here?"

The little man rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air rather dramatically. "Oh, I see how it is. Do you think your wife isn't allowed to invite friends over? Are you that much of a control freak? That jealous?"

The agent frowned lightly, his head turning to the side. "El invited you over?"

Moz blustered. "No – no, not _this_ time. But she could have!"

Taking a deep breath, Peter tried a different tack, unaccustomed to the little man being _quite_ this… odd. "Moz… are you okay? What's going on?"

For a moment Moz stared at him, then looked around the yard. Not quite suspiciously, but almost out of habit, not quite looking for anything but going through the motions. "Actually - and I'm not happy to be saying this - I'm here because –" he stopped, shuffled from one foot to another.

Peter spoke softly. "You're worried about Neal."

The little man looked up at Peter, and their eyes met. Something passed between them, some mutual concern for their younger friend based on information and feelings that neither one was completely comfortable admitting. Moz shuffled closer, looking down and half turning away as he did so, as if they might be watched. "You too?"

Peter sighed. "Come on in, Moz."

Mozzie hesitated. "Is Mrs. Suit in?"

"Mozzie –"

A voice from the door answered. "Yes." They looked up and saw Elizabeth, looking a bit more solemn than usual.

Peter could see her eyes were a little watery, and he stepped up to hug her, kissing her forehead as he did. "He's here?"

She took a brisk breath and nodded.

"Is he okay? Did he say anything about… where things may be?"

She looked up at him and one eyebrow raised. "You have no idea how glad I am that you asked those questions in that order." Peter had the grace to look a little sheepish, but she went on. "He's a mess, Peter. He needed to talk, get it out of his system, or at least say things out loud. And then… well. He's asleep on the couch, at the moment. He was just exhausted. I don't think he's been sleeping much."

Mozzie gave a disgusted snort. "Of course not, if _she's_ pulling the strings. _She_ always did like to have her little clandestine meetings at night, when the warm shadows kept anyone from seeing her too clearly…" Peter and El both turned to stare at him, taken aback by the sudden dip into _film noir_. He looked back and forth between them. "What?"

El reached over and patted him on the shoulder, shaking her head and moving gracefully into the kitchen. Peter just shrugged. "I guess it's a little strange to hear you complaining about someone being… ah… _clandestine_, Moz. That's all. I mean, you must admit… you're a bit of a professional at clandestine behavior yourself."

The little man huffed, but spoke extremely quietly. "It's different when she does it. She was always trying to pit people against each other. Subtly, mind you, but she did… She's…" he didn't finish, but Peter nodded, and held the door for him to come in to the house.

In the kitchen, with a slight flourish, Moz gave the bottles of wine to Elizabeth. She seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. "Honey, can you get the good wineglasses from the dining room?" She turned to the refrigerator and pulled out some cheese and veggies as he moved into the other room. "We may as well have something. I think this may get… complicated."

Elizabeth stopped for a moment, her head dropping as she leaned on the counter and tried to keep her composure. She had grown accustomed over the years to Peter's emotional discharge, often subtle but not always – but the emotions she had been dealing with this afternoon were totally different. It had been like navigating white water, or fighting a brush fire. It had been exhausting, and she knew that grounding Neal's feelings was going to take some time to process. She took a deep breath, and felt a tentative hand on her back, and turned to see Mozzie looking uncomfortable but determined. She gave him a small smile. "I'm fine, Moz."

The little man nodded. "I know." Then he rubbed his hand across her back and spoke more quietly. "His mom wasn't around much."

Her eyes watered a bit at that. "I just hope he gets through this without doing something rash…"

Mozzie picked up a knife and began to skillfully fillet a red pepper. "Me too."

Peter walked softly through the dining room, hesitating before taking the wineglasses down from their shelf in the china cabinet. After a moment he quietly moved four of them to the table, stared thoughtfully, and walked past them into the living room.

His partner lie on the couch, covered with a soft, pale green blanket. Peter couldn't help but notice how young he looked, and awfully pale, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. The agent shook his head. "Oh, Neal…" he whispered. "What am I going to do with you?" With an unconscious, fatherly gesture, he adjusted the blanket around his friend and placed a hand lightly on his head for a moment. Then he went back through the dining room to the kitchen, picking up the glasses on the way. Elizabeth looked up as he came in.

"How is he?"

"Still asleep." He took the proffered wine bottle and corkscrew from her, and opened it deftly. After he poured for his wife, he offered a glass to Mozzie, who put down his knife to accept it. "So." Their eyes met over the garnet waterfall of the pinot. "How much do you know, Moz?"

The little man watched the wine fill the glass and took a sip before answering, evaluating the wine and giving it an approving nod. "How much do you know?"

Elizabeth sighed as she put the cheese on a cutting board. "Boys… we don't have time for this. We all know about Kate. We all know she's got the treasure somewhere…"

"Yeah, but Neal knows where it is."

"Right. She gave him a key." The two men glanced at each other, somehow fine with telling El, but unsure about telling each other. They nodded as they sipped their wine, acknowledging the oddness of the situation.

"He told me she took it back." They turned together to look at El, who was chopping a cucumber into slices and beginning to look like she might cry – whether in sadness or anger, they couldn't quite tell. "She said it was to protect him, but now he doesn't know what to think. He kept coming back to 'did Adler know she was alive that day at the warehouse? Were they in on it together? And when the plane exploded'… he thinks that maybe –"

A voice from the doorway cut her off. "He thinks it's kind of unnerving to have people talking about him behind his back."

Elizabeth turned quickly, knife still in hand, while Peter and Moz looked over to see Neal standing in the kitchen doorway. There was some anger in his expression, but when El put down the knife and went over to hug him, he hugged her in return. Peter, who was standing closest to the door, put a hand on his partner's back.

"Neal, we weren't –"

The younger man cut him off quietly. "I know, Peter. I just…" He dropped his forehead to El's shoulder for a moment, took a deep breath. "It's really no one else's problem."

Peter exhaled explosively, and Moz made a noise not unlike an annoyed squirrel. "Look, Neal," the little man said, "we're just here to make sure you think things through."

"No, we're here to make sure he doesn't do something stupid."

Elizabeth hugged the young man harder, and felt him cling to her. After a moment, she pulled back to look at him, brushed the hair back from his forehead and smiled gently at him. "No, we're not here for any of that."

"El-"

"Listen, Mrs. Suit, I know you think-"

"Stop it." Her voice, while quiet, silenced them both as she wrapped an arm around Neal's waist. "We're here because a dear friend is going through something absolutely horrible, and we want to support him." Neal looked at her, his eyebrows coming together as his eyes welled up a bit. She gave him a squeeze as she brushed a hand across his cheek, then looked at the other two men, daring them to contradict her.

Peter looked at her, his mouth opened – and closed. The kid did look like hell. He tried once more to imagine how it would feel if _he_ were the con man. Looking at his wife, he frowned, tried to imagine feeling for just a moment the pain of betrayal from a woman he loved beyond measure. Taking a deep breath, he spoke quietly, the deep baritone resonating in the kitchen. "I'm not going to say that I'll support whatever choice you make, Neal. That would be a lie."

The younger man's eyes rolled, and he shook his head. "There's a surprise."

Peter put his hand on Neal's shoulder again, and waited for him to look him in the eye. "You know who I am, Neal. You know how I work. I hope that gives you a reason to trust what I say." Brown eyes met blue in a storm-tossed clash of shore and sea… but rock held firm. "You know I'll search the world again if I have to." A slight grin lit the agent's face as he looked into the weary blue eyes. "But standing here, right now, I believe you'll make the right decision."

"And what decision is that, Peter? To live your life? To walk away from the woman I love?"

"Neal –"

Caffrey disengaged from Elizabeth's one-armed hug and walked over to the table next to Mozzie, picked up the wine bottle and filled the last glass. "I don't know that I can really do that. I don't know that I have it in me." He took a sip of the wine, then another, nosing the glass professionally before he whispered, "I don't know that I want to. I'm a con man. With or without Kate - and God, I hope it's with… The game is everything. It's all I'm good for." He turned to his old friend, and lifted his glass, an odd bitterness in his voice. "Am I right, Moz? Live outside the system or die?"

The little man stared at the upraised glass for a long moment, long enough for Neal to frown. "Moz?" Neal held his glass out, waiting.

Mozzie stared at the floor, then looked up at the Suits. Elizabeth was clearly close to tears, but holding it in with professional aplomb. The FBI agent was staring, waiting. Moz had never actually dreamed the Suit could be so patient about Neal talking this way. Slowly, his gaze came back to his fellow con artist, and he watched him blink, puzzled. With an abrupt intake of breath, he pictured the young man even younger, learning all the cons. So quick, so intelligent, so charismatic… but more than that. This one was different, even from the start. This one _cared_.

_Too much to just be a con. He never really learned to put himself first, and keep it that way. He was never completely comfortable with the concept. And he needs people. Not like me at all…_

Mozzie put down his glass. "Well. I don't like to admit it, but I have to agree with the Suit."

Neal frowned. "What?"

"Neal, listen… you have a chance to do something here. Something interesting. Challenging." He reached over and tapped Neal's head. "Something that will use all the clever you have in there, and not get you thrown into a box for another four years."

Caffrey laughed, sounding a little drunk and a lot exhausted. "What are you saying, Moz? That I should go _straight_? For real? And walk away from Kate, whatever she's done? Walk away from the good life?" He gestured expansively, a certain manic desperation in his voice. "Are you kidding me?"

"Are you kidding _me_? You were _happy_ before she suddenly decided to come back! Nice of her to let you know, don't you think? Come on, Neal, she can't be trusted! Besides the fact that she was probably with Adler the whole time anyway, which makes her, besides being untrustworthy, a bit of a sl-"

Mozzie was stopped by a shove to the chest that slammed him into the wall, and sloshed the wine over the edge of his glass. His eyes widened as he stared at the crimson stain on the floor, and Elizabeth gasped, starting to move forward, but Peter held her back.

Neal seemed surprised at himself for a moment, and a bit frightened. Then he shook his head and began to say something, but the little man held up a hand, cutting him off. Turning away, Moz brushed off his shirt and spoke to Elizabeth. "I apologize for the mess, Mrs. Suit. As usual, thank you for your hospitality. I have to go." He headed for the back door, and Neal almost stumbled after him.

"Moz, wait! I'm sorry." His voice became more plaintive, almost fearful as he stopped, awkwardly, in front of his old cohort. His voice was a pleading whisper. "You know I can't live without her. Not again. Not now, now that I have her back."

The little man stopped at the door, half open with his hand on the knob. Quietly, he looked up at Neal, who couldn't tell if it was sympathy or disgust in his eyes. He seemed to be mulling over several responses, and the young con man couldn't help but notice the expression when he looked over at Peter, his mouth a grim line. Something slightly angry, something along the lines of _this is officially beyond me_. When he looked up at the young con again, his voice was more harsh than any of them had ever heard it be. "Don't be stupid, Neal. She's a user, always has been. Can't be trusted."

Neal jerked back as if he'd been slapped.

"And take a look around. For God's sake, wake up. You have people here who care if you live or die. And not just because it'll screw up the con. They want you to be _happy_, too." His mouth pursed tightly as he pointedly turned from Neal toward the Burkes. "Mrs. Suit, again, thank you for having me." Before she had a chance to respond, he was gone.

Neal stared at the door. Without looking back, he downed what was left of his wine, placed the glass carefully on the table, and opened the door himself. He heard Elizabeth behind him. "Neal…"

He paused, some part of his desire to run betraying him at the sad sound of her voice. He stopped, almost turned, then shook his head as if to clear it and headed out the door. Just before it closed he heard a much deeper voice, speaking calmly and truthfully into the buzz of thoughts in his head.

"I'll find you, Neal."

It made him pause for a few heartbeats, time enough for it to speak again, this time in a bare whisper.

"I promise."

* * *

oOo

* * *

**_"As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods,_**  
**_ They kill us for their sport. "_**

_please feed the author... _

_she writes so much faster _

_when she knows someone is waiting..._


	7. Those Friends Thou Hast

_I should be working, you know... Most gracious thanks to the readers and especially the reviewers..._

_you make me want to write, and I thank you for that._

* * *

_**Collar 2.6: Those Friends Thou Hast**_

* * *

Neal walked down the Burke's sidewalk into the early evening cool and kicked a stone, hard, that lie in his way. He watched it skitter down the concrete, bouncing aimlessly along until it fell off the path and rolled into the gutter. _Figures_.

He was feeling angry and hurt, and more than anything, confused. If Peter _and_ Moz hadn't ganged up on him, telling him what to do, he might not have felt so defensive of Kate… _although_… he sighed, and stopped for a moment, got his bearings. He couldn't remember the last time he was this tired, this unsure of what would happen next.

_Yes I can. It was when Kate died… _

He shook himself and took a deep breath, feeling that the wine had gone straight to his head. He wondered, peripherally, if he had been rude to Elizabeth.

_When did I eat last? Was it really this morning that Peter found me on the roof with a cup of coffee?_

He started walking again, more out of habit than with a sense of purpose. He went over that early conversation in his mind, remembering how softly his partner had spoken about his own insecurities, his own demons. How _kind_ he had been, while apologizing for his accusations the day before. Yet, tonight… how had they reached this impasse once more?

_Because of Kate. _

The picture of a young pilot flashed through his mind, making his jaw clench and his fists tighten.

_It must have been Adler. It had to have been Adler that actually found our doubles, and who blew up the plane with them in it… Not her. The Kate I know would never…_

His mind, traitor that it was, suddenly made a random connection to a man he had conned years ago.

It was a harmless little trick, selling an 'expensive' watch because he 'needed train fare to see his sister who was having a baby'… asking half of what it was worth, and seeing the man's eyes light up as he bought it.

Swindling someone in that way, showing off their greed – it always made him feel superior. Like he was some kind of modern day Robin Hood, and not some kind of crook. The scam had left him feeling so good that day that he shared the story with the woman next to him on the train. Not the real story, of course… but told her how the nice man had purchased his watch so he could get home…

He remembered the woman looking at him, with a shocked, concerned expression. _"Oh, sweetheart. Do you need some cash? You'll need a cab when you get to the city – " _ She was humbly dressed, but she opened her purse and had her wallet out before he could answer, counting what little she had. He had of course refused, embarrassed, and ended the conversation… but later, when he got off the train, he found a twenty in his jacket pocket that she must have slipped there while he dozed.

It was the first time he felt truly guilty about his chosen profession.

_Okay, yes, I admit I'm not always comfortable with a con._

But he was puzzled as to why he would think about that particular incident at this moment, with his mind racing. He actually mumbled out loud, "What does that have to do with anything?" The answer leapt to the front of his mind, and he nearly stumbled.

_The 'Neal' that woman met on the train would never cheat someone… just like the 'Kate' you know would never –_

He picked up his pace and glanced up at the moon, which was veiled like an aging actress shot through silk, still shining through gauzy clouds. Even with the light spill of the city, the first star sparkled like a diamond, and he knew he should make a wish on it… and the wish that popped into his head, unbidden, caused him a nearly physical pain.

_I wish things were back to normal –_

And the pain, somewhere around his heart, came because the 'normal' he was thinking of involved an office with glass walls, the thrill of the hunt, and someone that - while he didn't always agree with - he trusted more than anyone he had ever met.

oOo

Peter stood at the window and watched Neal walk away. Behind him he heard Elizabeth take a deep breath, and then whisper softly, "What do you think?"

Her husband straightened his shoulders and turned to look at her. "I think he's a mess." His eyes met hers. "I can't imagine what he's going through, El."

She went to him, and wrapped her arms around him. "I just wish I could do something."

"You did, sweetheart. You listened. He's a big boy, and he's going to have to decide this for himself…"

"I know," she said on an exhaled breath. "But he has such a blind spot when it comes to her."

"I know…" He brushed back her hair, and kissed her. "_That_ part I can almost understand. What I don't understand is how such a smart guy could fall for someone who isn't… well…" Peter's mind searched for the word to describe a woman as he stared into Elizabeth's eyes, until his expression softened, and he knew. "Perfect."

Elizabeth looked up at him, and she blinked in surprise. "Oh, Peter…" She stood on tiptoe and kissed him tenderly. "I love you." For a long moment they stood holding each other, amazed once more at the world outside and how cold it could be, compared to the warmth they had here, together. She pulled back eventually and he couldn't help but smile at her expression. Such trust, such faith that he'd have an answer… "What now?"

He spoke quietly, a shade of regret coloring his voice. "As a friend, I've done everything I can."

She nodded expectantly. "And as a Suit?"

His chin pulled back as he gave her a look. "Now I _know_ you've been spending too much time with Mozzie." He kissed her anyway, and hugged her hard.

"I was surprised," she said thoughtfully. "I never thought Mozzie would take your side. Not in front of you, anyway."

Peter nodded. "He cares about Neal. And he's an honest man." The agent couldn't help but chuckle at his phrasing. "For a given level of honest."

"An important level. You can –"

"-Trust him with the important things. I know." He gave her a little grin as he quoted her.

She blinked at him, unfazed. "What are you going to do?"

They looked at each other, and he sighed. "Well, being a Suit, as you so graciously put it, I can find out where he's going."

"Where he's been."

"Right. And… well. Try to keep him from falling off track."

His wife looked at him thoughtfully. "You could check his tracking information… see if he's been anywhere that the art could be." He nodded, staring at the floor. "And you know that, and you still haven't checked." Her eyebrows lifted as a small smile touched her lips. "You want to tell me why, hon?"

Peter's eyes finally came back to hers, and he exhaled a breath she didn't know he had been holding. He pursed his lips and shrugged. "Would you believe I haven't had a chance?..."

She almost laughed. "No."

He sighed. "Didn't think so."

"Why, Peter? You could recover all the artwork, keep him from –" she stopped, thought a moment. "Oh."

Her husband nodded. "I want to give him every chance, El."

Her fingers played absently with his collar as she spoke. "You know, some would say you're giving him every chance to hang himself. Putting him in temptation's way…"

He looked very nearly shocked. "El. He's not a child. I want him to prove to himself that he's capable of doing the right thing when it comes to his future…"

"And just maybe… prove it to you, too?"

He shrugged, and honesty prevailed. "It wouldn't break my heart. You know, it's weird. Every time I've really needed him, he's been there."

"Yes. And you've been there for him, too."

"Right. So maybe, if I stop pushing, he'll just… well." He glanced out the window again. "But not pushing and not keeping an eye on him are two different things. I'll be watching."

El gave him a squeeze and headed back to the kitchen. "You can try. Do you think he'll see it as a betrayal, though?"

Peter watched her leave the room, then looked back out the window, his eyes darkening like the sky outside. "I told him, El. He knows by now what he's up against."

_I just hope I find him before the agency does. If he runs, and I find him as Special Agent Burke, he goes back to prison…_

Just _when_ he had started seeing himself as a separate entity from the FBI, at least in some capacity, he was afraid to acknowledge.

oOo

Mozzie, currently in the person of Aaron Wiseman, held the cell phone in one hand while taking notes with the other. "Right. So when was that? And you're sure you saw her? Oh, she did, did she?" He paused, nodded, and picked up a bagel that was sitting in front of him, inadvertently smacking the pen against his glasses and smearing said pen with cream cheese as he took a bite. Frowning, he put the bagel down and wrote a date.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay. No - I know that, I'm just checking some things out. Thanks." There was a longish pause, and he rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Oh, sure. I'll just go down to the cemetery and ask him. Exactly. Yeah… okay. Thanks." He hung up and flipped through the notebook in front of him, placed his pen carefully behind his ear and picked up his nosh once more. Taking a bite, he mumbled around the lox. "You stepped in it with this one, Caffrey." For a few moments he paged back and forth through the notebook he was writing in, then sighed and picked up the phone again.

He'd prove what that vixen was really about to Neal if it took him all week.

_If I have all week._

Standing up, he walked over to his laptop, which was attached at the moment to something that looked like a small recording studio. He checked a few settings, put on a ridiculously expensive set of headphones, and listened attentively for a couple minutes. Eventually he shook his head, took them off again, and, glancing at the onscreen clock, sat down on the floor for his scheduled meditation.

oOo

Neal had nearly made it home when his cell activated, playing a tune that caught him off guard. He had attached it to that number as a bit of a joke because of the title – _Insurance_. He reached into his pocket for the phone, paused, then shook his head and kept walking. A few moments later the familiar beep let him know that someone had left a message. He ignored it as best he could, but in his distraught state, the lyrics to the ringtone caught in his head.

…_Let's keep the fire tame but keep our hands hot_

_I cannot get that ace so let me see a face card drop_

_We can play the field, if it feels right_

_Or we can spin the wheel and roll the dice for midnight…_

Shut up, brain.

In five more minutes he got to June's and trotted up the stairs to wait for his midnight visitor, hoping she would actually come again. _We have to talk this out. We have to… _ Glancing at the clock he could see that it was only about ten, no matter what the stars or his weary mind might tell him, and wondered if he should try to take a nap - but then, wondered if there was any chance of actually sleeping.

Instead, he puttered around the apartment. Took a shower. Did a couple dishes. Picked up a book he had been reading and went through the motions of reading a couple pages. Eventually his self-discipline crumbled and he looked at the clock again… and only a half hour had passed.

He pushed his hand back through his hair with a groan. "Gonna be a long night." He walked out onto the roof, sighed, then took out his phone and stared at it. Shaking his head in resignation, he checked his voicemail. A warm, feminine voice, with just a touch of hesitancy, spoke.

_Hey, Neal. It's Sara. Sorry I've been out of touch… work called me out to Boston the morning after dinner with the Burkes, would you believe, to check on a singer who had this collection of rare music manuscripts he wants us to insure - you'd like them, they're pretty amazing, all handwritten, he even has a Mozart… anyway. _

There was a bit of a pause, a breath, and she went on.

_Listen, I heard about what happened… I'll be honest, I actually called Diana, and she told me a little of what went on, I mean, she told me you were okay. Well, that you didn't blow up, anyway. I haven't called sooner because I didn't want you to think I was one of those clingy women who had to know everything you were doing… well…although most women don't have to worry about people getting blown up, I guess -_

The voice sounded a little fed up with herself, and sighed.

_Anyway. I wanted you to know I've been thinking – well, worrying about you, and I hope you're doing alright. If you need- or want, for that matter - to talk to someone, you can call me on this line… anytime. I mean it. And… well… I'm really glad you're okay. Talk to you soon – …'cause you still owe me lunch._

She had laughed a little nervously. The call ended, and Neal hit _save_ before he stared out at the night.

His mind put its two cents in.

_She really does care, you know. Hell, she even tried to understand about Alex, not to mention Kate…_

Shut up, brain.

He shivered slightly, yet sat out on one of the rooftop lounge chairs, hugging his arms around himself and waiting, drifting in and out of sleep.

_How did all these people find their way into his life, and why did they care what happened to him?_

oOo

A clock in the apartment chimed lightly at midnight, as the curtains billowed in.

* * *

oOo

* * *

**_"Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,_**  
**_ Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel" _**

...please feed the author...


	8. Full of Scorpions is My Mind

_Tuesday night. Time for another episode…_

oOo

* * *

_**Collar 2.6: Full of Scorpions is My Mind**_

* * *

oOo

…_A clock in the apartment chimed lightly at midnight, as the curtains billowed in… _

oOo

A moment later they soundlessly sifted back into place.

Soft footsteps moved to the bedroom, hesitated, then walked back through the apartment to the rooftop door. A delicate bubble of sound, perhaps a sigh, almost a laugh. Then steps back to the couch, a fuzzy, fabric blur of noise, and back through the doors to the roof. After a moment, the footsteps return, this time moving all the way to the bathroom. The door closes, various closures are undone, and the slight squeak of a knob yields to the sound of artificial rain. Soft humming leaks through the streaming patter of the shower.

oOo

Mozzie glanced up as an indicator began to flash on the monitor of his laptop. Rushing to the computer, he put his headphones back on and listened, frowning, for a few moments; made a minor adjustment or two. With only a token hesitation, he slipped one ear free of the headphones and reached for his phone. He punched a number, and waited.

After two rings, a slightly groggy voice answered.

"Hello?"

"She's there."

"What?"

"Come on, Suit. How can you sleep at a time like this? She's there. Now."

Peter frowned into the darkness. "How do you know?"

"Never mind that."

"Moz –"

"Okay. Let's just say that I took advantage of some technology that I could employ without pretending I had a warrant." The little man paused, stared out the tall windows of Saturday and shook himself restlessly. "I don't know how much time you'll have, or what you'll do… but…" There was a sigh. "For all we know this may be the last chance. You saw how he was."

Special Agent Peter Burke was now fully awake, adrenaline doing the job of several cups of coffee and a cold shower. "Alright. I'll see what I can do."

"Good. Just remember she's crazy."

Peter rubbed his eyes with a sigh as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, as behind him, Elizabeth blinked herself to wakefulness. "I've dealt with crazy people before, Moz."

The line was silent for a long moment. Eventually, the voice that spoke was unusually quiet, even a bit emotional. "I know that. I guess what I'm saying, _Peter_, is – be careful."

"Honey? Is everything okay?"

He reached back to take her hand as he considered Moz's choice of words, his dark eyes deep in thought. "Okay, Moz. Thanks. I'm on my way." Shutting his phone as he looked back at his wife, he spoke quietly. "Kate's at the apartment. I have to go, El." Even in the dark of their bedroom, she could see the strength of determination glimmering in his eyes; eyes she loved so very, very much.

Elizabeth Burke was no fool. She'd seen that look before, and steeled herself against her first reactions. "Okay, good luck… Just… come back safe…"

He smiled gratefully at her, knowing how concerned she was, and knowing how she was keeping herself calm just for him. "I'll do my best. I promise." He leaned over to kiss her, and was not entirely surprised at how earnestly she returned his embrace.

"I know you will. Be careful." She clung to him for a long moment, and whispered softly, "I love you."

oOo

Peter Burke in civvies was often a surprise to the people who saw him every day in a Brooks Brothers suit. He kept himself in excellent shape – and if his attire for work didn't broadcast his muscular arms and chest, so much the better. Surprise could be a very handy tool for an agent in a tight situation.

Besides, the man in a black jacket zipped over a black t-shirt and jeans didn't have the kind of expression one normally associated with a Taurus. He should have been in a Mustang, or maybe on a Harley… but reality doesn't always work that way. In spite of the incongruity, he drove swiftly across town, feeling not quite like himself, and feeling just a little naked without his gun or badge.

For the hundredth time he wondered if he was doing the right thing by leaving them behind.

If he walked in as the FBI agent, it would lead to legalities that he didn't have any desire to deal with… so it was just Peter Burke, friend to a young, brilliant con man, who parked down a side street, then slipped around the corner as silently as any cat burglar toward June's. Peter Burke, renegade, who picked the lock with an ease that suggested perhaps he'd been practicing on it, and swarmed silently up the stairs.

Peter Burke who noiselessly opened the apartment door, surprising a young woman who was pulling things out of Neal's dresser and stuffing them into a duffle bag.

His voice rumbled quietly in the dimly lit room. "Good evening, Kate."

The woman turned abruptly, startled for the barest second, then frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Peter leaned casually against the doorframe, giving her a lazy, unconcerned smile. "I could ask you the same thing, since you're in a different dimension than was previously believed. But, since you ask so nicely, I'm here to see Neal."

"Get out."

"Not till I see him." Peter glanced around the apartment, looked out toward the roof and frowned. Where _was_ Neal?

Kate moved to the closet and pulled out a shirt. "Why do you always try to ruin everything?" She balled it up and stuffed it in the bag, then reached over and picked up her jacket, pulling it on angrily and shoving a hand in her pocket. "It won't work this time. We're leaving, and you can't stop us."

Something in the set of his grin reminded her of a jungle cat, watching its prey. "Then why do you look so nervous?" She did her best to ignore him, still shuffling through things as the curtains billowed in the windows once more, settling down again like the falling tide. His voice was surprisingly calm, deceptively unruffled. "You know, I'm a curious guy, Kate. Really curious. Especially when I see pictures of two pilots that could easily been mistaken for you and Neal cross my desk… It makes me wonder. How long did it take you to find them? Is that one of the reasons you were so hard to find for so long?"

She froze to glare at him for a moment before continuing to pack.

"And I can't help but wonder, in all this hurry… does _Neal_ know you're leaving tonight?"

Her lips contorted into something much less attractive as she hissed at him. "Go to hell, Burke. You aren't going to screw it up this time."

"_This_ time. Of course." Peter appeared unfazed as he stood up straight and casually took a couple of steps toward her. "About last time. Maybe I should ask you if you thought Neal was on that plane when you triggered the explosion. He still thinks it might have been Adler, but I'm pretty sure that –"

She spun around again, and this time, there was a gun in her hand. "No closer."

He lifted his palms slightly, and his tone grew a bit more sarcastic. "Ah. Well. I'm _sure_ Neal doesn't know about that. He's always been pretty clear on how he feels about guns. But then, I'm sure you know that, being the love of his life and all."

"Shut up." Her eyes flashed, the gun pointed at his chest. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Does that mean you didn't blow up the plane, or you didn't think he was on it?"

oOo

Mozzie jumped when his phone rang. He hadn't actually been asleep, but had been trying desperately to calm his qi ever since he hung up with Peter.

_Should I go over there? Yeah, right, Moz, just walk into the tiger's den and say hello. Let the suit deal with the crazy woman._

The phone had shattered his fragile thoughts, and he answered it without looking to see who it was. "Suit?" A voice muttered on the other end. "Trey? Well – yeah. Look, not to be rude, but I haven't seen you in years – why are you calling me at this hour?"

Mozzie listened for a long time before grabbing a pen and beginning to write things down. "Wait – and it was how many? You didn't say two hundred? That's crazy…" He shook his head, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "No, no, I'm glad you did. Yeah, I think so. Listen, Trey… if you set this up… can you hack into it?"

oOo

The dim light of the city filtering through the windows only served to accentuate the darkness that seemed to seep through the apartment, leaving ugly black welts on the floor. "You just had to be so damn diligent, didn't you. Why couldn't you have just left well enough alone?"

The man standing before her stiffened ever so slightly as he stared at her, his jaw tightening. "Because Neal deserves better."

She exhaled explosively. "Oh, please. I don't know what your angle is, Burke, but I know you've got one."

He seemed genuinely amused. "Angle?"

"_Everyone_ has an angle. You're no different. _Neal_ is no different. You, above all people, should know that by now. How many times has he lied to you?" Peter frowned at her, but she went on. "You think I'm not good enough for him?" Her laugh was unnerving. "We're not so different, he and I."

Peter's jaw tightened a bit more, his mouth drawing back to a harsh line. "He never lied to me. He just - didn't tell me everything."

She shook her head, an ironic smile on her lips, stunning eyes wide and somewhat amused. "Whatever lets you sleep at night, Agent Burke."

"And speaking of sleeping, I suppose next you're going to tell me you weren't sleeping with Adler all the time that you were working for him?"

Her stare turned into a laugh. "I was his 'personal assistant'. Just what do you think that means for a man with his power?"

"Neal didn't know."

"Of course Neal didn't know." Kate pulled the zipper shut on the bag with one hand, the gun still trained on him, and shook her head. "He never will, either."

"Oh, I think he's figuring out a lot of things right now."

She gave a disparaging laugh. "Don't even try to psych me out. Neal is brilliant, but even you must know how naïve he is." Her gun dropped a bit as she shook her head thoughtfully. "I'm amazed that he was always so impressed with you. I think he was just so flattered that you kept on trying to find him, it blinded him to the reality of the situation."

"And what reality is that?"

Her voice was bitter. "The only reality there is. That you take what you can get, and no one else matters."

The man frowned at her, considering. "So what did I get out of chasing him for all those years?"

Kate laughed. "Seriously? You got the kudos of catching the big bad James Bonds. You got your own white collar unit. You got promoted."

He looked thoughtful for a while, and a little bemused. "And you _really_ think that's all I got out of it. You think that would be enough."

"That was plenty. And of course, once you let him out on his leash, you had a specialist that you could call your very own."

Peter shook his head slowly. "Oh, that's attractive. You make him sound like a well-trained dog."

She shrugged, glanced toward the roof doors without shifting her aim. "He is what he is. Brilliant. Creative. Useful."

The agent sighed, shifting his shoulders back. "And what blinded him to your little… faults?" She motioned with the gun for him to move out into the bigger room, and he did so. He wondered, inwardly, where Neal was, and hoped he wasn't out setting up a getaway. "I mean, right from the beginning, he was infatuated by you."

Kate laughed. "He was supposed to be. Vincent was on to him from the beginning. Or at least wondered about him. He told me to play hard to get for a while, since I was still scoping out Greg."

"Scoping out?" Peter sounded a little surprised.

"Greg was an up and comer. He seemed to know what was going on a little too quickly."

"So Adler had you keep an eye on him."

She looked at him, her face impassive, her voice blunt. "Adler had me sleep with him. It's a lot easier to find things out about a man that way."

Burke blinked, then shrugged. "I suppose you're right." The smile on his face had no humor behind it.

"Then when Neal showed up, knowing so much, clearly trying to find a way in… Vincent told me to play him. It wasn't hard. Especially after Vincent transferred Greg to Chicago."

"Ah, yes. The tearful breakup. The choosing of Neal over Greg. In his mind, it really proved how much you loved him. Didn't you get a little tired of being used?"

She made an unladylike noise. "Oh, yes, terribly dramatic. I might have been, if it wasn't already obvious to me that Neal had a lot more potential than Adler."

Peter looked at her incredulously. "Now _that_ I find hard to believe. You'd give up the millionaire for the up and comer?"

"I told you, he had amazing potential. And Adler wasn't the kind to share. The only problem with Neal is that he just isn't willing to go that extra mile –"

Peter interrupted her. "Infirm of purpose?"

"What?"

"You mean, he isn't willing to kill anyone who gets in his way?"

Her eyes grew harder, and the gun in her hand seemed to be sniffing up at him as she lowered it to her hip. "Please. I know you're not that stupid. You've killed people. Sometimes you just have to."

"Sometimes you have to make choices. But your reasons better be good enough to let you sleep at night." Burke shook his head. "Your relationship with him is just a scam."

She dropped the duffle bag on the floor and shook her head. "And you're just not smart enough to get it. We work well together. That's all you need for a relationship."

His head jerked back as he frowned, and his hands fell to his sides as he made a serious appeal to her. "You've got to be kidding me. He loves you, Kate. He sees you as more than a fellow con."

"I know." As lovely as she was physically, something in the way her eyes rolled when he said it made Peter's stomach turn. "Isn't it romantic."

He looked for a long moment at the unwavering gun in her hand, and took a deep breath. "It's not too late to stop this, Kate."

She laughed, and it was an ugly little sound. "I thought you were smarter than that. I have no desire to be one of your trained dogs."

His shoulders dropped, and he shrugged a bit. "So tell me this. Did you mean to kill those pilots?"

Kate managed an affronted look. "I most certainly did not."

He looked surprised. "Really?"

"All I did was blow up a plane."

"A plane with two pilots that happen to look like you and Neal."

She waved a hand dismissively. "A plane that I thought someone who was becoming a liability might be on."

"Neal."

Kate took a deep breath, almost sounding bored. "Well, let's just say that from everything I was tracking on him at the time, I felt that he was beginning to sound a little too…"

"Legal?"

Her mouth crinkled up a bit. "Something like that. I think maybe I was mistaken. Although… we'll see." She motioned with the gun again, and Peter found himself standing against the door to the apartment. "It's no surprise that his last act before running away is killing you, is it? I mean, you've been a thorn in his side for so long… catching him – no, more than that, _outsmarting_ him… and then throwing him this little bone of the anklet. He's still a prisoner, as long as he's wearing it. And you think you're doing him some favor."

Peter stared at her and shook his head. "You really don't get it at all, do you. He would still be in prison –"

"He wouldn't be in at all, if you didn't put him there."

"No, he wouldn't be there at all if he didn't break the law." Burke shifted, leaned an arm against the door, tried to think of how fast he could open it if he tried. "You really don't get it." She lifted the gun again, but he wasn't seeing it. "I mean, seriously… you don't understand what it means to be on the side of what's right. I think Neal has an understanding of what that can be like now -"

"Don't give me that self-righteous crap. Right and wrong are invented by people who want to control people. Is it _right_ that I had to work for a man who thought sleeping with him was some kind of bonus?" She paused, smirked. "Not that it was the end of the world, but come on. Everyone is looking for something." She motioned with the gun again. "Out on the roof, Agent Burke. You look like you could use some air."

"Listen, Kate. I meant it when I said it's not too late yet. You turn yourself over now, there's probably a good finders fee for the artwork… I told Neal once that I'd vouch for you if came in voluntarily–"

Her laugh was stark and unnerving. "Oh, good try. And you won't mention murder at my trial at all…" The gun stared into his chest. "Now move."

A voice from the shadows spoke softly. "Kate… don't do this."

She stepped back smoothly to include the figure stepping out of the shadows in her range with the gun. When she saw who it was, her face changed – and it made Peter feel sick. "Good, you're awake. Let's get out of here, handsome. I don't like the company."

"Kate… "

Peter shook his head slowly, a grim smile hardening his eyes. "You've been listening to all this, Neal?"

There was silence as Kate waited for some kind of reaction. Neal took another step toward her, and the gun lifted almost automatically. His eyes were wide, his face a blank canvas of despair. "You don't know what you're saying. I know you didn't mean to kill those pilots. You couldn't have. We'll pin it on Adler, we can be here, be together –"

For a moment her eyes widened as well, and Neal felt hope surge in his chest. _She would figure this out, they would figure this out, it would be -_ and then she began to laugh, and his heart shattered in his chest.

An ugly laugh, with a loud, cruel, sarcastic, and oddly final sound. "Out on the roof. Both of you."

oOo

Mozzie barked into the phone. "I'm just asking, can you do it?"

The voice at the other end mumbled something about credit cards and traces, computerized tracking numbers and having to leave the country tomorrow. Mozzie shook his head, shook the phone. "Just do it. You have the numbers. Come on, Trey, I'm counting on you!"

The voice mumbled again, this time more distractedly, and Moz nodded. "Good. Just… do whatever you have to do. I know you're the best. Make this happen." He paused, then added, "Yes. You can take the first one with you. That's fair." He wiped a hand over a suddenly sweaty brow, and tried to think. "And send me the list. Okay?"

The voice mumbled. "Then send me an email with the new numbers. Encrypted. I can't tell you how much this means, Trey, how important this is…"

* * *

oOo

* * *

…_now if I really wrote for the show, I suppose this is where season 2.6 would end…_

…_please feed the author. Thank you…_


	9. On His Part

oOo

* * *

**_Collar 2.6__:__On His Part _**

* * *

oOo

Peter lifted his hands and began walking toward the door, willing Neal to do the same, wanting to buy them some time. In a situation like this, time was hope. Time was the chance for something to change. All of his training told him to find a way to _make this work_. At the moment, he only saw one or two possible outcomes, and neither one looked good. He moved carefully out onto the rooftop patio, his eyes scanning into the dark night for something, anything to get them out of this.

_So maybe leaving the gun behind wasn't the best idea, Burke._

He pushed the uselessly negative line of thought away while Kate stepped out behind them. As he turned to watch her, his hands still lifted, he caught sight of his partner's expression… and almost wished he hadn't. What he saw in that young face chilled him to the bone.

It had been painful to watch Neal suffer the doubts of the last few days; more painful still to see him confronted with the truth from Kate's own lips. What he saw now, though –

_What he saw now was a dead man walking. No hope sparkled in those uncommonly blue eyes, no life danced in that expressive face. Caffrey may as well have been lying in a box; his breathing was certainly shallow enough. He was beaten. Giving up._

As if hearing his thoughts, Neal's head swung slowly toward him, and he blinked a couple times, almost as if he had forgotten Peter was there. With a frown of recognition, he whispered hoarsely, his voice already failing him. "Sorry, Peter. You were right…"

Peter spoke involuntarily, reaching for his friend. "Neal…"

The gun motioned a threat. "Back off, Burke."

* * *

oOo

* * *

Diana Berrigan looked up from her book as her girlfriend walked into the dimly lit living room. For a moment she frowned, blinking back from the reality of the murder mystery she was reading – but then her dark eyes grew concerned. "Oh, hey, sweetie – did I wake you up? I wanted to read for a while, I thought this light was far enough –"

The blond shook her head, blearily, clearly doing her best to not bother waking up all the way. She held out a flat rectangle as she shambled toward Diana, doing a passable although unintentional impersonation of the living dead. "Phone," she mumbled. "Twice. Thought it might be important." Clearly this wasn't the first time it had happened in their relationship, and certainly wouldn't be the last. Being attached to an FBI agent had its more difficult aspects, but then, she supposed all jobs had something that made them annoying at times. Berrigan jumped up to take it from her, and slapped at the pockets of her sweatpants.

"Oh! I am _so_ sorry, I thought I had it with me–"

"S'okay." Christie began the shuffle back to their bedroom, stopped, turned to shuffle back and give Diana a quick kiss before shuffling on once more. "G'night," she yawned. "Love you."

The brunette chuckled at her. "You too. Good night. And sorry!" She called the last apologetically as Christie left the room, and her partner waggled her arm over her head dismissively as she disappeared through the doorway. After watching the blond leave, Diana looked down at her phone. The number wasn't familiar, but it had called twice… and then on cue, with a quiet little 'ding', a text appeared.

_Lady Suit. Get to June's. _

She frowned at it, shook her head and looked out the window. _Lady Suit?_ There was only one person she knew who would text at this hour with that cryptic a message. And since there was very little love lost between the gnomish con man and the gorgeous agent, she had a feeling she couldn't afford to ignore it. _He wouldn't dare call if it weren't… damn it. What have you gotten into now, Caffrey?_ A few ideas clicked in her brain, and she moved.

Almost without realizing how she got there, she was in her bedroom, leaving the lights off as she pulled on jeans and a shirt. It wasn't until she took her gun out of the dresser drawer, checked it with a soft click and slipped it into her shoulder holster that she heard stirring in the blankets behind her. "Diana?"

She moved to the other side of the bed. "It was important, you were right. I've got to go out for a bit." Kissing the other woman sweetly on the forehead, she heard a sigh.

"Okay." There was a shade of something uncomfortable in the not-so-sleepy now voice, and she felt a soft hand trace her side. "And you need your gun?"

Diana took a deep breath as she stood. "Don't worry."

The sound from the bed wasn't exactly a laugh. "Right. You're just going to the corner store..." They were both quiet for a moment, and then the agent turned to go. She was at the door when Christie spoke again. "Hey, Diana?" Berrigan paused, her jaw tight, waiting. Christie tried, but she struggled with being an agent's partner more than Diana was completely comfortable with.

"Yeah, baby?"

There was another pause, a long indrawn breath, another sigh. "Let's be careful out there, okay?"

Teeth glimmered a grateful smile in the dark. "Will do. Love you." She waited until she got to the apartment stairs before pulling out her phone again, making a quick call as she ran for the car.

* * *

oOo

* * *

"Shut up." Kate glanced quickly around the roof, choosing her angles. "And don't move." Peter tilted his head as he watched her, carefully bringing back the hand he had stretched out toward Neal.

"Trying to figure out where you're going to stage this little fantasy?"

"I said, shut up." She took a few steps toward the parapet and glanced quickly over, her lips compressing as she checked something that seemed to be hanging there.

"Yeah, I can see that it would be tough to get us over that…" He made his voice sound almost annoyed as he played for time. "You know, I still can't see how you would sell Neal shooting me. I mean, sure, we get on each others nerves, but don't you think that if he was going to, he would have by now?"

"Burke-"

The tight warning in her voice joined with whitened knuckles on her gun hand convinced the agent to pull back. He lifted his palms a little higher, glanced around without moving his head.

Neal, however, appeared to be beyond caring. His voice was weary as he said, "Let him go, Kate. This is really between us, isn't it?"

Her eyes darted to him, and she looked only a little surprised. "How very noble, Neal. But if I were to let anyone go, it would be you. I mean, seriously… who do you think the feds would believe if I got caught? The con man or one of their own? You think they ever really _trusted_ you?" His eyes narrowed a bit, stung, but she carried on. "Not that you gave them a lot of reason to, between chasing after me and the music box." Her expression became more calculating. "And, after all, he's the one who caught up with you by finding me when_ you _couldn't." She almost laughed. "Let's face it. You're a bit of an also-ran at this point, handsome."

The young con man flinched at her tone, his eyes falling from hers to stare down at the rooftop, and Kate motioned with the gun. "Get back. Closer to that wall." Peter took half a step backward when he heard it.

_Sirens_. _ Two. No… three. _

Closing fast. He tried not to smile. "Uh-oh. Sounds like we're going to have company. How many of us are you ready to kill, Kate?"

* * *

oOo

* * *

Mozzie dropped the second phone and spoke into the headset he was wearing. "Trey. I'm back. I'm sending you the generator now –"

His fingers danced over the keyboard, his eyes darting as he scanned the information he was sending. "Yes. Yeah, I think it'll work. Especially since they set it all up as a dummy to begin with. These are obviously bogus numbers for the accounts… exactly, yes! If they aren't set up to check theirs, they don't need to check ours… right." He hit _enter_ with a minor flourish. "You're sure the delivery paths are right? You can change them around enough and still keep track of…?" He nodded needlessly as Trey mumbled on about working around various obstacles. "How much did they have to cash out to do that? What? He did it all up front?"

The little man shook his head. "Well, God bless Ponziland. Right… All I have to say is that he sure as hell had a lot of faith in – you did? Good. Great. Thanks, Trey. How long will that take? Okay." He was about to break the connection when his eyebrows lifted. He suddenly looked around his room, as if agents might appear out of the woodwork. His hand automatically cupped over the mouthpiece. "Hey, Trey – look, man, you need any ID? Clean passport?"

Moz nodded as he rolled back on his chair, pulled open a drawer and sifted through a stack of at least eight little folders. Most were shades of blue, some were burgundy, one was green. He was shuffling through them when he stopped, listening. "Well, that's all well and good, but I don't think that Farsi is going help – yeah. Not right now, anyway." he nodded, tossed the blue folders back in and dug through the drawer for a minute. Ah, here we go." With a triumphant expression he pulled out a black cover. "How would you like to travel with diplomatic immunity?" He listened for a minute, shrugged, and tossed the passport back into the drawer, closing it with a click. "As long as you're covered. And no, thanks, I don't even want to know." His eyes darted toward the window and his lips tightened as he heard not too far-off sirens. "Good luck, man. I'll be waiting for the tracking."

* * *

oOo

* * *

Kate's eyes flashed as the sirens grew louder. "Oh, please. This is New York. You don't know if they're coming here…" But her expression betrayed her as she glanced over the rooftop, and Peter saw her hesitation as the sound drew closer. He pressed his advantage, taking a step forward, shortening the angle between him and Neal.

"Do you really think, Kate, that we don't watch this apartment? That we haven't been watching it especially closely this week?"

He hoped to God that it was true. That it actually _was_ his people speeding down the street toward them.

"Once you came waltzing out here with a gun, and we had our hands up - don't you think someone watching would have noticed?"

Her anger flared as they heard the squeal of tires in the street below. "Bastard! Why do you _always_ have to get in the way?" Still, the gun in her hand swung to point at Neal, and her voice was cold as ice when she spoke. "But I can't help but wonder… maybe you've been pulling a scam on _me_ all this time, Caffrey. Maybe you've been working with them since before you came to Adler…" There was a bare moment's hesitation, and Neal's eyes went wide as he stared down the barrel of her gun. Then her finger tightened on the trigger, and several things happened very quickly, as time slid into slow motion…

…

_Neal's eyes widened as he looked up at her, and realized she was pulling the trigger. That she was going to kill him. Something snapped and a flush of anger, red-hot, pushed his pain away, tightened his jaw, lit his eyes with raw fury. He began to lunge forward-_

…

_Peter saw her hand tensing, jerked sideways, grabbed Neal as he leapt and pulled him behind himself. He saw the expression of disgust and anger on her face as he interfered with her plans once more, and heard the explosive retort of her gun- _

_boom_

_Kate growled a cry of animal fury into the night, pulling the trigger as Peter dodged in front of Neal, pulling him out of harms way. Anger made her eyes grow wide and cold, vicious as she pulled the trigger again, and yet again. Burke grunted as pain blossomed across his chest and he went down, toppling backwards against Neal, who tried to catch him as he fell._

_boom_

_boom_

_Neal felt Peter jerk back against him, once, twice, three times. He caught his friend under the arms as he began to tumble backwards with a brief cry, and partially broke his fall to the ground. In the darkness, with Peter pinning his legs, all he could see were the stark holes ripped into the agent's jacket._

"No, God, no. Peter!" His hand touched his friend's face in the dark. "Peter –"

He heard footsteps running across the roof, and others running up the stairs. By the time he looked up Kate had thrown a bag over the side, had hooked a line to her belt and was down the side of the mansion. By the time he looked back to the door, Berrigan was leaping through the door, her gun out, covering the roof. Half-blinded by the darkness outside, her voice was harsh. "Where is she?"

Neal pointed, and the agent ran to parapet, looked over. "Damn." Hitting a button, her radio crackled to life.

"Go for Jones."

"Clinton, she went down the East side. Be careful, she's armed."

"Got it." He yelled orders, and the radio crackled once more. "Is she alone?"

"Yeah." There was a momentary relief in her voice, and she could practically hear him nodding.

The woman moved carefully toward Neal. From where she was, she could hear yelled instructions, more sirens, and calls in the night… but up on the roof, it was deadly silent. Everything happened so fast – yet in the few seconds it took, Diana's eyes had adjusted enough to see Peter cradled across Neal's lap, lying still. She ran to his side. "Oh, God… Boss?"

* * *

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

.

.

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* * *

_...okay... if you're as exhausted as I am, I have succeeded in some way..._

_...please feed the author..._


	10. Let Slip The Dogs of War

oOo

* * *

_**Collar 2.6: Let Slip the Dogs of War**_

* * *

oOo

Neal thought he could feel Peter barely breathing, although at this point, he was barely breathing himself. He was pinned against the wall with Peter slumped against him, afraid to move lest his partner was damaged further. The wild expression in his eyes bypassed relief at Diana's appearance and edged more towards one of fear as Berrigan ran to check on her fellow agent.

"Diana – she _shot_ him." His voice cracked a bit. "She was going to shoot me - It was supposed to be _me_. Just – and he - he jumped in front of me. Pulled me back. I swear, I was trying to–" He stopped as her dark eyes grew wide, hopeful.

"He _jumped in front of you_?" Her hands were already reaching for Peter.

Neal nodded, guilt overwhelming him, shock making his words thick. "I was going to try to grab the gun. It was stupid, but I never thought he'd –" but she wasn't listening anymore. She had dropped lightly to her knees on the roof next to them, clinging to those words.

"Damn it, Boss, tell me you wore the new one…" … _tell me she's a good shot, tell me it was small caliber..._ Her hands danced lightly over his chest, and she unzipped his jacket. Swift footsteps behind her told her that Clinton was on his way, and she yelled over her shoulder. "Man down! Jones, I need some light here!" There was a bare pause as he found the switch for the outdoor lighting, and he came out already on the phone.

"Yes, we've got an agent down. He's been shot –" He pulled the phone away for a moment, staring down at Burke and Caffrey.

Neal was hunched against the parapet wall, one hand under Peter's arm, the other wrapped around his forehead, holding his back steady against his chest and trying to keep him stable where he lay. He lifted his hand from Peter's chest and looked at it, his mind not quite able to process the red smear across his palm. He blinked. "Oh, God…"

Berrigan heard him, but kept her eyes on Peter as she spoke. "Easy, Neal." Diana pulled across the bullet holes in the black t-shirt, ripping it open farther. Even at this angle, Neal could see the discs that remained of two slugs. She let a grim smile loose, and looked back at Jones. "He actually wore the good one. And it looks like she was shooting a twenty-two."

Jones released a breath and finished the sentence into the phone. "Close range, small caliber, he was wearing a vest, but – right." He snapped his phone shut and took another breath. "On the way."

Diana nodded, and looked up at Neal, who was struggling against shock to process the information, not to mention the blood on his hand. "But…" He held up his palm, and her expression darkened at the sight. "She shot three times…"

"Hang on." With careful efficiency she peeled back what she could of Burke's jacket without moving him. "At this range she could have cracked a couple of his ribs, even with a small caliber. We don't want to move anything." She slipped a hand around his neck, then gently down his sleeves to see if there were any major arteries to worry about. There were protocols for this, and they ran swiftly through her mind. "Jugular, brachial… okay… femoral…" She was sliding her hand up his thigh when a breathy voice rumbled a whisper beneath her.

"Don't do anything I have to explain to my wife. I'm kind of defenseless here…" Peter's eyes opened slowly to meet hers, and he winced as he tried to inhale. "Damn."

"Go slow, Boss." She couldn't help but smile. "Good to see you."

"You too." He blinked against the pain and she tried to distract him.

"It looks good on you," she said, indicating his vest. "I thought you hated the new one."

"I do," he barely breathed, "Too tight under the arms. But it was in the trunk."

"You want it open?"

He tried to inhale again. "Ow- no. Not yet. Let them see if I'm leaking, first." His eyes lifted and he looked at Neal, a bit upside-down. Seeing the expression on the younger man's face, he managed a minor, lopsided grin. "Hey. You okay?"

Neal stared, not yet willing to believe. His voice still rang numbly of shock. "Peter?"

"Yeah." The agent started to shift, winced, and thought better of it. He looked exhausted. "Sorry, but I think I'll just stay here for the moment, if you don't mind." Even though he tried to joke, his voice - still without proper air support - seemed far away.

Caffrey exhaled, and began breathing again, quick and shallow. "No, no, it's fine, stay here, they're on the way." He looked up at Jones, confusion and a little panic still flashing in his eyes. "They are, aren't they?"

Jones shot a look at Diana, who in turn looked at Peter. The senior agent's eyes seemed to be asking for her help… and she couldn't help feeling she was somehow standing in for Elizabeth as she spoke softly. "It's going to be okay, Neal." Putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, she smiled comfortingly at him. "We're _all_ going to be okay."

The blue eyes were still wide, but he nodded, and hugged Peter's head as best he could from their awkward position. With his forehead almost on his partner's shoulder, he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Peter. I'm _so_ sorry…"

Peter reached up and wrapped his hand over Neal's hair, hugging him to his shoulder as they reconnected. Then he squeezed his arm, a little weakly, and brought his hand back down. "Hey." Neal lifted his head, frowning anxiously.

"What?"

Peter looked at his thumb and held it up to Diana. "I think it's him," he rasped. She frowned, scanning Neal carefully. Caffrey looked confused.

"What's me?"

Berrigan answered with a calm, casual tone, doing her best to take care of the two – one stable but in pain, the other clearly in emotional shock. "The blood, kiddo. Did you hit your head on the wall?" She reached over and ran a hand gently over his hair.

The young con shrugged, not letting go of Peter. "I don't know. It was so fast…" He frowned. "Nothing hurts."

She smiled at him. "Not yet, you mean." Diana got as far as his arm when she made a surprised little noise. "Yeah, I'd say she got you. Not bleeding much, but a graze, here, between your chest and arm. A couple inches either way and you'd know how much it hurt already. …Nice save, Boss." Peter attempted to shrug without actually moving his chest, and she shook her head. "You two are lucky."

Burke gave her a look and managed to keep from laughing. "Oh, yeah. We're lucky, alright."

He reached up again to put a hand on his partner's shoulder. Neal was rocking slightly, his eyes unfocused, still clinging to Peter as if he might, at any moment, disappear. In a moment they heard the ambulance arrive down in the street.

oOo

Half an hour later they were in Downtown Hospital, where Diana leaned back against a wall as the two men were wheeled off to x-ray.

At Peter's request she had stayed with Neal in the second ambulance, keeping up the appearance of the unconcerned agent, joking lightly with him about how he should probably get his own vest next time. It wouldn't have mattered much what she said, because the younger man was almost comatose with shock. Now, with no one depending on her, she felt her body ready to collapse from the adrenaline backwash. Jones took one look at her when he came in from parking the car, and put a hand on her arm. He hesitated only a moment, knowing how she prided herself on her strength.

"…You doing okay?"

She nodded, glanced down the hall. "Yeah. They're both stable, headed to x-ray." The agent took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and exhaled slowly. Then she looked up at Jones. "I should make a call –"

"Sure." He gave her a serious look. "Only if you're sitting when you do, okay?" Diana grinned, nodded, and headed down the hall to the waiting area. If she was standing in for El, apparently Jones was standing in for Peter.

Which reminded her. Half a dozen steps away she turned back to him. "Can you call Elizabeth?"

"Got it." She nodded thankfully and headed down the hall. He pulled out his phone and found the Burke's home number, took a deep breath as he hit send.

Elizabeth picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" Clearly he had not awakened her. Her voice was concerned, but he'd never met a woman so good at not jumping to the worst case… or maybe he'd never met someone so good at keeping that jump under wraps.

"Mrs. Burke?"

"Clinton?"

"He's okay. We're all okay."

She exhaled. "Thank you. Now tell me why you're the one calling."

"Peter was wearing a vest, got hit a couple of times in the chest. He seems to be okay, but of course they're doing x-rays…"

Elizabeth nearly rolled her eyes. _'Got hit'. Such a lovely euphemism for 'being shot'._ "Where are you?"

"Downtown. We're sending someone to pick you up."

"Thank you, Clinton. That's very kind. Please tell them to hurry." She hung up before he could respond, and shrugged into her jacket.

When Peter left the house, she had attempted to sleep for about ten minutes before every bone in her body told her to get up, dress, and sit by the phone. Once she got the call, she moved outside and sat on the front steps, waiting. She stared up at the stars that were still shining faintly in a sky faded like an old pair of jeans. And she waited, calmly. Quietly. Doing her best to remember to breathe.

All she really wanted, at that moment, was someone to lean on.

oOo

The doctor who came into Peter's booth at the emergency room was paging thoughtfully through his chart for a couple minutes before she lifted her head to look at him. He was lying with his eyes closed, an IV drip giving him both some fluids and a fairly mild dose of morphine. She watched for a moment over her reading glasses, and saw him take a deep breath, only wincing the slightest amount as he did so. She appeared satisfied, and made a mark on the chart.

"Feeling a little better, Agent Burke?"

His eyes opened and he smiled at her. "Dr. Anderson." His voice was somewhat stronger, more supported now, but still quiet. "How is it you manage to be here whenever my team is in trouble?" Then he frowned, the evening slipping into place beyond the morphine. "How's Neal?"

"I'll be asking the questions here, Peter." Her mouth quirked a little grin as she moved closer to the bed. "How are you breathing?"

"Same as always; you inhale, you exhale…"

The doctor pushed back silver hair, and shook her head. "Of course. And I'm going to have to keep you here until I get straight answers."

He managed a grin, and shrugged. "I know there's something in there," he said, motioning toward the IV, because I don't feel like someone took a bat to my ribs anymore. Am I broken?"

"Very minor fractures. Two. We're going to tape you up, but there's no sign that there's any severe damage. That is, if you can keep from being shot again for a couple weeks… could you manage that for me, Agent Burke?"

"I'll do my best, ma'am." They nodded at each other, and Peter frowned. "So how is he?"

"Are you asking as an agent, or a friend?"

Peter, distracted, took a breath and sighed, another sign to her that his ribs were going to be fine. "Which one will get me better answers?"

"I believe he's going to be fine, but he was in a lot of distress when he got here. Clearly he's been through a very traumatic event…" She waited a moment, and his poker face got him nowhere. "And I can only assume it's even more stressful than being shot at, and having his…" she paused, choosing her word. "_Partner_ shot in front of him. I'd like him to have a mild sedative, but he's refusing." She checked the line into his arm, and the nearly empty IV bag. "He wants to see you, I think –"

"You _think_?" It was Peter's turn to frown.

"At the same time, he seems very distressed about seeing you. I think he's afraid of what may happen." Paula checked the bag a last time, put down the chart, and removed the needle from his arm. "You, on the other hand, seem fine. I'll have a nurse come in to tape you up."

"I want to see him, Paula."

"I'm sure you do, Peter. But we're going to make sure you're in one piece first. Alright?"

oOo

The sedan pulled up to the hospital, and Elizabeth was out before the agent could come around and open the door for her. She was heading inside, the picture of calm, when someone caught her eye. A nervous looking man with glasses, balding. He had a scarf wrapped around his neck, and was standing near the ER door, staring at her. She blinked. Then she ran, throwing her arms around him as her breath caught in her throat.

While his expression was uncomfortable, his arms closed around her, and he patted her back gently. "It's okay, Mrs. Suit. They're going to be fine."

"I know." El gasped, suddenly unable to hold back the tears. "Oh, Moz…" and abruptly she was sobbing openly, standing in front of the hospital in the last of the night. "I just…I'm sorry."

The little man held her more tightly, waved the agent who drove her inside. "It's okay. This jacket is washable." She laughed but it came out as more tears, and they stood for several minutes as she wept into his shoulder. Finally she lifted her head, sniffed several times, and caught her breath.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, only a little awkward in the face of open emotions. "Anytime, Mrs. Suit. Well, maybe not _anytime_. I'd hate for them to make a habit of-."

"Will you come in with me?"

He looked from her to the door of the hospital, and felt a wave of unfounded terror.

"Well…"

She saw it, and clutched his arm. "Please, Moz? I know how much you hate hospitals, but…" Her hastily constructed façade nearly crumbled. "If you could, I'd really, really appreciate you being there…"

To see her so upset, and asking so plaintively for his help… Well. It was more than his fears could take. He patted her hand, stood up a little straighter, and set his jaw as he put one arm around her waist, nodding. "Of course. Of course. They'll be fine. Come on."

oOo

Dr. Anderson came back as the nurse was finishing up with taping Peter, and watched him sitting fairly comfortably on the edge of the bed. He was holding his t-shirt when the nurse finished, staring at the holes. Abruptly, he threw it into the garbage, leaving him wearing a rather interesting tube of white, and not disguising his physique one bit.

She shook her head. "How does it feel?"

He actually looked a little surprised as he frowned at her. "Not as bad as when I fell off that ladder. Is that true, or is it the morphine talking?"

"You really didn't have much morphine," she smiled. "So I'm guessing you were very, very fortunate. Keep the tape for three days – I'll want you back for a double check x-ray. Agent Berrigan has your scrips. And your friend's."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you." He waved a little salute, and stood up carefully. "Can I see him now?"

The doctor tilted her head at him. Clearly he was still in some pain, some discomfort, but at the same time, seeing her other patient might actually help. _ Help them both_, she thought. _Soldiers, in the trenches. They need each other. They can be okay when they know the other guy is. _ Nodding slowly, she motioned for him to follow her.

oOo

The nurse at Neal's station looked both exasperated and nervous. "I'm sorry, doctor, but he insisted on walking out in the hall. I told him he should be in the bed, but he just…" The girl looked at the chief of staff, and finally, shrugged. "I tried. I did. But I wasn't going to fight with him and get him even more upset."

"It's alright, Meghan. Let me see the chart." The doctor perused Neal's information for a moment, then looked at Peter. "Well? What are you waiting for? As she said, he's in the hall. His injury wasn't stitchable, being a graze… but he's bandaged, he'll be fine. I think he is worse off emotionally than physically right now." Peter blinked at her. "And one of his scrips is for a very mild sedative. I think it might help for a few nights, if not weeks."

"Okay." Peter pointed toward the closer door, looking at the nurse, and she nodded. Walking slowly, one hand on the wall, he headed out into the hall.

At first he didn't see him. This close to the ER, things were in a controlled state of constant motion, like a beehive. But he did what he had done so many times before, and tried to think like his partner. _There_.

The end of the hall, in the corner, in the shadows. There was a bench, but he wasn't sitting. He was leaning against the wall, pale blue shirt hanging open over his bandaged side. Hugging his arms around himself, and staring blankly.

Peter felt his heart sink. He walked down the hallway, which felt, in his current state, like it was about three blocks. When he was within a few feet, he spoke softly. "Neal?"

The younger man looked over at him, and realization dawned. Peter watched as his expression shifted from surprise to relief to… something ashamed. Neal looked away and back, opened his mouth and closed it again. His eyes showed nothing but varying shades of pain. "Peter. I'm so sorry…" He looked down, his frown trying to hold his emotions in place. "You were right. You were right about –"

"Neal." The younger man turned, reluctantly, looked into brown eyes that were brimming with compassion. "We'll get through this."

Caffrey tore his eyes away and slouched against the wall, not caring how much it hurt his side. _God, Peter, don't be nice to me. I don't think I can handle you being nice right now…_ "I…" His voice caught, and he swallowed hard. "I loved her. I really, really…"

Peter put a kind, gentle hand on Neal's shoulder and spoke quietly. "I know, Neal. I know you did." He took a breath, and repeated, "We'll get through this. I promise. But tonight, let's just get home. Okay? You're coming back to our place." He gave the shoulder under his hand a squeeze.

Neal nodded but didn't move. Then, with a sudden shudder, he gasped in a breath, his hand coming up to hang on Peter's forearm and his head dropping, eyes squeezing shut, mouth pulled back in a grimace of emotional pain. Another gasp, and Peter pulled him closer, the younger man's head falling to his shoulder. Peter stared into the wall, his jaw set, and held Neal as he sobbed once, twice.

For several minutes he just stood with his friend, letting the pain find some release. When the gasps slowed, the tears no longer running freely down the handsome face of the con man, Peter loosened his grip, keeping one hand on his shoulder still. Neal sniffed several times, coughed, and caught his breath. He wiped his hand over his face fruitlessly, and then used the tail of his shirt to wipe it again. "Peter, I-"

"It's okay, Neal."

Neal pulled back a bit, and now there was a glimpse of steel in his clear blue gaze. "I want to get her."

Peter tilted his head, nodding it slowly. "I know. We can talk about this tomorrow -"

The younger man cut him off. "I don't want revenge, Peter. I just want her caught."

Burke stared into the depths of the blue and spoke slowly. "And when she's caught… what do you want?"

Neal inhaled a bit jerkily, but his voice was steady, his eyes washed clear as he stared into Peter's.

"I want justice."

* * *

oOo

* * *

**_"Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war,_**  
**_ That this foul deed shall smell above the earth_**  
**_ With carrion men, groaning for burial. "_**

_...author tired. also hungry..._


	11. The True Beginning

…_anyone else wondering just what the other side of Mozzie's phone calls were that night?... I know I was curious until he told me…_

* * *

oOo

* * *

_**WHITE COLLAR: SEASON 2.6: The True Beginning**_

* * *

oOo

* * *

Peter looked into Neal's frozen gaze for a long while, and repeated what he said. "Justice."

"Yeah. Isn't that what I'm supposed to want? I get it now, Peter," he snapped. The con man frowned, his expressive eyes narrowing. "I understand how you feel." It was the younger man who looked away first, the intensity of the agent's scrutiny wearing him down in his weakened state, anger the only thing holding him together. "I want her to pay for what she's done."

The older agent spoke softly. "There's a difference, Neal –"

"I know! I _don't_ mean revenge. What she's _done_… not just to me… "

The agent nodded slowly, giving the shoulder under his hand a squeeze before letting his arm drop. "Don't take me wrong. I'm glad you're trying to turn your pain into a direction that's healthy… Believe me, I know how hard it can be." _But I know a battlefield convert when I see one. _ "And we both need some rest. We'll talk about this in the morning."

"It is morning. Well, four in the morning, anyway." Peter turned to see Elizabeth approaching quickly, doing her best not to run to him, and everything else faded away as she wrapped her arms carefully around his chest. He held her tightly, the pain in his ribs nothing compared to the comfort of having her against him once more. She looked up at him and spoke softly. "I want to hug you harder, but I'm afraid."

"Don't be." He took her face in his hands, and kissed her. "I won't break."

Elizabeth gave him a calculating look, and then shifted to wrap her arms around his neck, instead. "This feels safer." They clung to each other, and when Elizabeth opened her eyes, she saw Neal beyond his shoulder, who quickly looked away. She pulled back half a step from Peter, who understood her telegraphed look instantly, and let her go with a smile.

"Neal –"

He looked up, exhausted, hurt, and almost embarrassed by the last few days. A shock of curls falling over his brow, along with the sheepish expression, made him look more sixteen than thirty. "Hey, Elizabeth…"

"Are you alright? I know where not to hug him, but you –"

The younger man waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, please. Peter got shot at close range, and I got…" He paused a moment, then pulled back his shirt. Pointing with some annoyance to the bandaging on his side, he scoffed. "I got a boo-boo." The sparkle in her smile as she gave him an amused, sympathetic pout made it clear that something was still right in the world. The hug that followed didn't hurt, either.

"It was my fault, Elizabeth…" Weakened by her obvious caring, Neal's voice was a vulnerable whisper. "I'm so sorry."

She put a hand on his chin and lifted his face so that he looked her, however reluctantly, in the eye. "You're both alright. That's the important thing. I mean it, Neal." He frowned, looked away. "Now… are you going to help him find her?"

Neal nodded, meeting her searching gaze once more.

"Good. If we feel we've made a mistake, all we can ever do is our best to make things right. And I believe you will." She hugged him again, and he frowned as he shook his head into her shoulder. Forgiveness, acceptance… these were still things he hadn't yet become accustomed to, especially from someone who knew exactly who he was, what he was. He was almost afraid of how it felt.

He mumbled into her shoulder. "Thank you."

Peter grinned at their interaction. He admired yet again his wife's ability to put people at ease, make everything seem better - when she suddenly looked down the hall, as if remembering something, and he followed her glance. Something in his heart melted just a bit.

Standing in the hallway by the nurse's station, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, was Mozzie. He was looking around tensely, and his eyes kept coming back to where the three were standing at the end of the hall. Peter spoke quietly. "_How_ did you get him to come in here?"

Elizabeth smiled fondly. "I asked."

Peter did a double take at her. "But – he hates this place – the germs -"

Neal nodded, staring as well. "Even more now, after being shot – the smell, even the food…"

Elizabeth gave them both a look. "He was here because he was concerned about you two. And he came in with me because, well, I needed someone to hang on to. He's a good friend." She was already halfway down the hall as Peter and Neal exchanged a look of their own. Neal's eyebrows lifted.

"Wow…"

Peter shook his head. "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

oOo

By the time they were given the all clear to leave, it was getting light out. They had signed all the paperwork, and were heading out the ER doors when they had to step aside for a gurney rumbling past. The man on the gurney was bloody, looking bad. Even his dreadlocks were bloody. The EMT's were barking status reports to the attending physician, sounding a bit desperate, and Peter couldn't help but notice the horror on Moz's face.

Feeling for the man who had braved extreme paranoia to help his wife, Peter patted his back. "It's okay, Moz. Let's just get –"

The little man turned, his eyes wide. "Oh, God. Ohhhh, God."

Neal stepped over, feeling that there was more than his friend's normal anxiety here. "Moz, what is it?" The three of them stared at him, questioningly, as he watched the doctors do what they could right there in the hallway.

The attending was shaking his head as he tried to check vitals. "Hit and run?"

"Yeah, reports said a woman, Caucasian, long dark hair… they said she didn't look drunk, either. Just… angry. The police showed up, but we have to give them a report…"

The doctor shook his head. "Well, if she was _trying_ to kill him, she succeeded." He nodded to the EMT. "You guys did everything you could. TOD is…" He looked at the clock, and rattled off the time. "Never had a chance."

"Oh, God…" Moz leaned heavily against the wall.

Peter felt a sinking sensation as Mozzie hyperventilated, and seemed to be vibrating slightly. "Excuse me…" The EMT turned and looked at him, and the agent felt the weight of someone who looked at death on a daily basis. He reached for his ID, realized he still didn't have it, and shook his head. "Agent Peter Burke, FBI. Any word on the driver?"

"No, she took off. Mike got the plates – you want it? Mike, give this guy the license." The other medic flipped through his clipboard and showed Peter the number.

"Thank you."

Elizabeth was ushering Moz outside. Neal and Peter joined them in the cool dawn air, both looking exceedingly thoughtful.

"Moz… what's going on?"

The little man was hunched over, his hands on his knees. "Oh God. Oh, my God. That was Trey."

"Who?"

"Oh, Mozzie… I'm so sorry."

Neal leaned closer. "Wait. Hacker Trey?"

Mozzie nodded, still trying to breath normally.

"Oh… Sorry, Moz. I don't think I've ever actually _seen_ him."

Moz was panting. "Not the point."

Burke took a deep breath. "Okay. What's going on?"

"Peter, please… " He looked up at Elizabeth. "He just saw someone he _knows_ –"

"True, but it's even more than that, Mrs. Suit." Mozzie looked around furtively. "Can we go somewhere else to talk about this? I'm suddenly feeling very out in the open."

Peter opened his mouth, closed it again. "Jones said my car was out here…" He glanced around the drop-off area and spotted the Taurus. "Let's go."

The drive home was silent, and they were sitting in the Burke's living room for quite a while before Moz had enough Shiraz to tell his story.

"Last night… a few hours ago… after I talked to you, Suit… I got a call."

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

_Last night, or 1:30AM_

Mozzie had dropped uneasily into his scheduled meditation when abruptly, the phone sounded. It shattered his fragile thoughts, and he answered it without looking to see who it was. "Suit?" A voice muttered on the other end.

"Hey, Moz… how are you, man? It's Trey."

"Trey?"

"Yeah, man… how you doin'?"

"Well – yeah. Look, not to be rude, but I haven't seen you in years – why are you calling me at this hour?"

"Look… Sorry it's so late… but man, this is just too weird. And frankly, I wouldn't have said anything, but I know from when Caff called us in that Adler was behind you getting banged up… glad you're okay, by the way… and when the info this biddy I was freelancing for led back to Adler, I just didn't feel right not letting you know." The voice paused, key clicks the only evidence that he was still there. "Okay. Here we are. This chick had me set up deliveries to storage units. Like two hundred of them. Cartons and crates of varying sizes. Wanted it undetectable, under the radar kind of thing. But set up so that even if someone scratched the surface, they'd get nowhere. Get the stuff lost in red tape, but be able to keep track myself."

Mozzie listened before grabbing a pen and beginning to write things down. "Wait – and it was how many? You didn't say two hundred? That's crazy…" He shook his head, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Yeah, I know… seems they have an awful lot of stuff they're moving. It all seems pretty weird. Sorry if this is total bull, but I had a feeling in my gut that I should let you know."

"No, no, I'm glad you did."

"You think it's important? 'Cause if I can cause a little grief to the man who took a shot at the _Moz_, I'm more than happy to blow this one up in his face. You have a credit numbers generator? One that's any good?"

"Yeah, I think so. Listen, Trey… if you set this up… can you hack into it?"

"Hack into it? Hell, I'm the one with all the details. I'm just supposed to make sure that none of it's traceable. I mean, if you look into it…"

Mozzie barked into the phone. "I'm just asking, can you do it?"

"Jeez, Moz… if you mean can I change out all the credit card numbers, yeah, if I have a generator for fakes. If you mean can I change where the final deliveries will be – and you wouldn't believe the paths these boxes are taking – hell… I know I can. I built it in along the way, if you get my drift. The big problem will be generating enough of the credit cards to make it work, and fast. I mean, I'm getting the hell out of Dodge by tomorrow. I got a bad feeling about this one. Especially now that I'm letting you know what's going on. I've got the new delivery addresses and numbers set to go…"

Mozzie shook his head, shook the phone. "Just do it. You have the numbers. Come on, Trey, I'm counting on you!"

"And you got me man, you got me… She bought the hacker, not the heart. Hang on…"

The voice mumbled again, this time more distractedly, and Moz nodded. "Good. Just… do whatever you have to do. I know you're the best. Make this happen."

"Workin' on it. Hey, Moz – She gave me the first box as my payment. Mostly broken gold, some old coins… loose gems. Frankly, I can retire with this one, which was what made me suspicious… but I wanted to make sure you were cool with me taking it. I have no idea where they came from."

"Yes. You can take the first one with you. That's fair." He wiped a hand over a suddenly sweaty brow, and tried to think. "And send me the list. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, man. Almost ready. Hell, if this generator you have is any good… I'm going to hang on to it. Not that I'll need it much anymore." Trey mumbled for a while as he typed, then laughed, a deep, resonant sound. "Hell, this is going to screw him over but good. There's a timer on it – I'm giving myself an extra two hours to get to the airport before it all changes. Just in case the biddy is keeping an eye on it." Another laugh. "Here's the formatting for the numbers…" More keystrokes indicated an email being sent. "I'm just waiting on you, man."

Mozzie nodded. "Then send me an email with the new numbers. Encrypted. I can't tell you how much this means, Trey, how important this is…" He looked out into the night and frowned, then hit a different window on his laptop. "Damn. Hang on." Rummaging through a drawer, Moz pulled out a cell phone, checked for a number, and typed a text, looking even more uncomfortable than usual.

_Lady Suit. Get to June's._

It would have to do. He hoped it would do.

Mozzie dropped the second phone and spoke into the headset he was wearing. "Trey. I'm back. I'm sending you the generator now –"

His fingers danced over the keyboard, his eyes darting as he scanned the information he was sending. "Yes. Yeah, I think it'll work. Especially since they set it all up as a dummy to begin with. These are obviously bogus numbers for the accounts…"

"Well, obvious to us, man."

"Exactly, yes! If they aren't set up to check theirs, they don't need to check ours."

There was a tense pause. "Which is what makes me worry, Moz… I mean… I think I may know too much."

"… right." Mozzie hit _enter_ with a minor flourish. "You're sure the delivery paths are right? You can change them around enough and still keep track of…?"

"Yeah, yeah, figuring out the tracking was what they hired me for. Supposedly." Mozzie nodded needlessly as Trey mumbled on about working around various obstacles. "Some of these deliveries were set up six months ago… to fake addresses that would bounce them somewhere else when they were refused. All over the world, Moz. I think they even bought out a couple storage unit businesses."

"How much did they have to cash out to do that?"

"I wouldn't even want to guess. All paid for in the last two years, though. Nice and legal."

"What? He did it all up front?"

"Crazy, right? Can't imagine it being drugs in all these crates that'll be flying around the world for a year or so… but I got no idea… and I don't want to imagine. This guy must be loaded to begin with."

The little man shook his head. "Well, God bless Ponziland."

"Don't want to even guess what you're talking about, Moz."

"Right… All I have to say is that he sure as hell had a lot of faith in –"

"It's here. Okay…" There was the sound of typing, and a low whistle. "Hey, this fits right in with my program. Great minds think alike, eh, Moz?" A few moments of typing, and then, "Got it. Just got to shuffle a little…"

"You did? Good. Great. Thanks, Trey. How long will that take?"

"Like I said, I was setting it up for just such an eventuality… give me a few hours. The biddy expects me to send this out at 5 AM, and it's one-thirty now…" Trey's voice faded a bit as he worked, and came back again. "She'll still get her list. It won't do much for her in the long run, but she'll get it. First deliveries aren't for a couple of weeks, anyhow. They'll look just like she wanted, but when she starts looking for those packages, she'll find out the pea isn't under the cup any more." A deep chuckle punctuated the typing. "Hey. Been good talkin' to you, Moz."

Moz nodded. "Okay." He was about to break the connection when his eyebrows lifted. He suddenly looked around his room, as if agents might appear out of the woodwork. His hand automatically cupped over the mouthpiece. "Hey, Trey – look, man, you need any ID? Clean passport?"

"Well, the biddy hooked me up with one, like I trust that – let me check… I do speak another language, remember."

Moz nodded as he rolled back on his chair, pulled open a drawer and sifted through a stack of at least eight little folders. Most were shades of blue, some were burgundy, one was green. He was shuffling through them when he stopped, listening. "Well, that's all well and good, but I don't think that Farsi is going help –"

"I suppose it wouldn't exactly _speed up_ my processing."

"Yeah. Not right now, anyway." Mozzie nodded, tossed the blue folders back in and dug through the drawer for a minute.

"Unless I go military. I'd hate to have to cut my hair, though…" Trey's voice faded into keystrokes once more.

"Ah, here we go." With a triumphant expression Moz pulled out a black cover. "How would you like to travel with diplomatic immunity?"

"Nah, I just remembered I still have a clean one from last year, a spare… I'm good… you want to know where I'm goin'?" The voice was a cheerful mumble again. Clearly Trey was one with his software once more.

Moz shrugged, and tossed the passport back into the drawer, closing it with a click. "As long as you're covered. And no, thanks, I don't even want to know." His eyes darted toward the window and his lips tightened as he heard not too far-off sirens. "Good luck, man. I'll be waiting for the tracking."

"You got it, man… I'm setting the switch from her to you for 6. The email will go to you then. Use the info in the email, Password is _'sucker'_." Another chuckle. "Have a good life, Moz."

"You too, Trey. You too. Enjoy every minute. And… thanks."

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

There was silence in the living room as they stared at each other. Peter carefully pulled his phone out, dialed. "Yes, Diana. No, no, I'm fine… listen. There was a hit and run early this morning, looks like vehicular homicide. And I need to know if they found anything with the –" He stopped talking and his eyes widened as he listened. "Okay. Yeah. Listen, I'll be in –" His eyes shifted to El, who was staring with one eyebrow lifted. "Just… can you have someone bring it here? Really? Well… okay. Thanks."

He hung up, and they looked at him expectantly. "The police already thought the stuff they found in Trey's knapsack was suspicious…"

"Oh, God…"

"Evidently some broken pieces of gold and jewelry that looked to them like antiquities. Hughes had word out to look for anyone fencing that kind of thing."

Mozzie looked up. "What about his laptop? Was he carrying a laptop?"

Peter stared at him. "Witnesses said he was holding a computer sleeve to his chest when he got hit… it went flying." He pushed a hand back through his hair. "It got run over a few times. She already checked the hard drive, it's completely destroyed. Forensics has it, but she says they laughed at her."

The little con man's voice was surprisingly loud in the silent room. "What time was he hit?"

Special Agent Peter Burke reached over and took the glass from Moz's hand, took a deep drink, and handed it back. "Five thirty-six." The silence flooded over the room, briefly. "He never had a chance to send out our revised list."

Neal's eyes widened. "Then… the artwork could be _anywhere_…"

Peter nodded. "Anywhere in the world. And no one knows where."

* * *

oOo

* * *

In a dim, third-rate hotel room halfway across the city, a computer hummed to life. Elegantly slim fingers stroked the keys efficiently, and stunning blue eyes scanned across a list. Delicate brows came together with some suspicion.

More keystrokes, more frowning. One screen after another changes. There is a change in the atmosphere, a tension rising as breath is heard quickening.

"No. He wouldn't dare…"

Another screen appears, the logo of a delivery company at its head. A password entered, 'pending deliveries' clicked.

Nothing. The bogus company has no customers.

The string of curses becomes a cry of fury in the early morning, as it slowly dawns on Kate that the last several years of planning has been thwarted. Her voice is hoarse as she growls into the empty room.

"Damn you, Burke! This isn't over. You'll pay for this." Blue eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light. "You and your little dog."

* * *

oOo

* * *

…_please feed the author…_


	12. Promise

And the 'new season' begins… I know this one is transitional. Hope you like it. I think I'll just carry on until June, if that's okay with you...

* * *

_**Collar 2.6.1: Promise**_

* * *

It was three in the afternoon when Peter woke up. He blinked, still in that moment of existential unreality that so often hits when one wakes from a sound sleep in the middle of the day or in a strange place; and since the _place_ was clearly home, he had to think for a moment about why he was there, and who he was. He blinked, stretched - or attempted to - and remembered everything with a gasp as his ribs complained loudly.

_Well, we know the pain meds work. _ Glancing at the nightstand, he saw a glass of water and a prescription bottle, open. He smiled, even chuckled a bit. _ Thanks, El._ Leave it to her to think that opening a child safe cap might make him flex his sore chest. Sitting up carefully and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat for a minute, shifting around and gauging how much things hurt before giving the world a resigned sigh. Reading the label on his prescription bottle he shrugged, shook out one instead of two, and washed it down with the water. He was looking through the bottom of the glass before he realized how thirsty he was.

He tried to remember getting into bed, and failed miserably. Then he remembered Elizabeth making two trips to the living room; first helping Neal to the guest room, whom they had finally talked into taking the mild sedative Dr. Anderson had prescribed, and then coming back to help him upstairs. With a little frown he looked over at her side of the bed - which he knew she slept in at some point - but it was currently empty. Still moving carefully, although the sharpness of his pain was fading along with the stiffness of sleep, he got up and pulled on a t-shirt and sweats before padding out into the hall.

The guest room door was half open, and he gingerly looked in to see Neal, still sound asleep. _Good_, he thought, pulling the door a bit more shut. _Best thing for him._ Then down the stairs, to see Moz wrapped in a blanket, sound asleep in Peter's favorite chair with an empty wineglass nearby. He sighed and walked into the kitchen.

Elizabeth was sitting at the table, a cup of tea in her hand, her laptop open in front of her as she read over some notes for an upcoming event. Not wanting to startle her, he simply watched for a few moments, appreciating once more how beautifully her hair fell over her shoulder, how her long eyelashes brushed her cheek when she blinked. Perhaps she heard him exhale softly, because she turned, rising as she saw him. They met in the middle and held each other before he gave her a warm kiss. His voice rumbled quietly in the kitchen. "Thanks for taking care of everyone, Hon. I'm sorry I wasn't any help…"

She tsked at him, her fingertip bopping him on the nose. "You were the one who got shot, remember? I think that gives you a pretty good excuse…" She kissed him again, her hand smoothing across his chest as she spoke more seriously. "How does it feel?"

He looked appraisingly out the window as he took a breath, stretched a bit. Lying to her about this was against the rules. "Achy, but not bad. Like I told the doc, it was worse when I fell off the ladder trimming that tree."

"Well, you did land badly."

"True. And at least this time I had Neal to fall back on…" Their eyes met once more, and they acknowledged the irony of the statement. Peter held her close and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Actually, once you all crashed, so did –"

Peter's eyes abruptly widened at a memory, and he interrupted her, grabbing her shoulders. "Oh, no. You had that huge meeting today! That was supposed to be this morning, wasn't it? El, I'm so –"

She put a finger to his lips, and smiled. "I postponed."

"But –"

"Sweetheart…" she said softly, "you have no idea how agreeable even the most upset client becomes when you call to postpone a meeting, and you start with 'Sorry I have to reschedule, but my husband was shot last night'." His eyes narrowed a bit as she giggled. "It's really the only benefit of the whole experience, especially since this woman has been particularly difficult… I think it will be much easier now. She was just horrified – and terribly impressed."

He tilted his head at her suspiciously, but grinned. "Well… glad I could help."

Elizabeth nodded before her eyes abruptly began to water. Trying to sound light, her voice cracked halfway through the sentence. "Just – just don't make a habit of it. Okay?"

"Oh, honey…" Peter's eyebrows came together as he wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly. "I won't." Kissing the top of her head, he mumbled into her hair. "You're amazing, Mrs. Burke. If you weren't already married, I'd get down on one knee right now."

She sniffed, brushed at her eyes, and giggled again. "Your wife would never let you go."

* * *

oOo

* * *

It was closer to seven in the evening when Neal awoke to the smell of dinner cooking. He frowned for a moment, blinked a couple times to adjust his brain. _Peter and Elizabeth. The guest room._ He took a breath as memories of yesterday flooded through his mind… _Okay._ He sat up and waited for the confusion of emotional backwash to hit, as it had every morning since Kate's reappearance. The disbelief, the hope, the fears… and frowned when it didn't happen. At the moment, all he felt was a vague anger.

_Maybe my subconscious has known something was wrong all along. _

He looked around the room and blew out a breath. Last night, El called it _his_ room. _'It's late, Neal. Let's get you up to your room'._ She said it so easily. So _kindly_. As if she didn't even consider how it might sound to him after all the insanity – it was just a simple fact for her. As if he belonged here. He was welcome; it was therefore _his_ room in their house. He took a breath and the ghost of a grin touched his eyes. Elizabeth gave him a whole different standard to consider a woman by. Somehow, knowing that someone could know exactly who and what you were, and still be so… accepting… it was completely alien to his experience. The thought of Sara brushed through his mind and he pushed it away for now, as he shook his head and looked around again, _seeing_ this time.

The closet door was open, and his clothes from the night before were hanging neatly, along with a dress shirt and tie from a couple weeks ago when he and Peter had gone to the gym after work. A spare gym bag was on the floor in there as well. Next to the bed was a nightstand with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen, and a little note telling him what time it was last night - or really, this morning - when he took them last. It was signed 'El', with a little smiley face, and he had to grin as he slowly stood. A chair was pulled close to the bed, in case, he presumed, he felt dizzy when he got up to put on the workout pants and t-shirt that were lying there.

Neal shook his head. Somehow, couched warmly in a second home, he felt like a man; not a _con_ at all.

oOo

Elizabeth was setting the table as he walked downstairs. She looked up with a smile. "Well, good _morning_, Sunshine." Giving him a hug as she passed, he didn't miss the appraising glance she gave him, or the slight nod of approval. "We'll be eating soon. How do you feel?"

He almost answered automatically with 'fine', but looked at her again. She deserved more than that. Thinking for a moment, he looked away as he stretched a bit. "Not too bad. I'm… weary." His eyes came back to hers, the blues meeting halfway, smiling with a bit of sadness mixed in. "Maybe a little… _fragile_? But…all things considered… not bad." He seemed a little surprised, himself.

She nodded. "Good enough, and better than expected," she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Peter's in the living room. You two have a little time to chat while I make a salad."

"Need help?" While the offer was sincere, clearly he was avoiding his partner, although he covered his nervousness well. At least, it would have been well enough for most people.

Elizabeth gave him a look tempered with a sisterly smile. "Nope. Go chat. You'll have to some time."

Neal sighed at her back as she walked into the kitchen once more, and ambled into the living room. Peter had a muted hockey game on, but looked up immediately to greet him when he came in. "Hey."

"Hey." Neal glanced at the screen, searching for something they could talk about – other than the last few days. "Who's playing?"

Peter gestured vaguely, accepting the effort gratefully. "The damn Flyers."

Neal frowned, "What do you have against the Flyers?"

His partner sighed. "Nothing, really. Except that they beat a team from close to home in the first round. It's my civic responsibility to hate on them." He shrugged. "At least for a couple weeks."

They both grinned a little in relief, the ice broken. Then they looked at each other for a moment, checking for clues to their partner's health. Neal broached the subject. "So… how're you feeling?"

The agent shrugged. "Better. It's going to hurt for a while, I know…and ache even longer. But I know it's going to keep getting better." Brown eyes seemed to transmit a sympathetic level of meaning to the simple words, and Neal almost smiled. "How about you?"

"Pretty much the same as you." Neal sat down, and realized someone was missing. Abruptly, his expression changed to one of concern. "I should really check in with Moz –"

"Already did."

Blue eyes widened. "You did?"

"He woke up a while ago. Said he had some things to look into, but El told him he had to be back at least for dessert."

They looked at each other, and shrugged in unison at the oddly solid friendship between El and Moz. Eventually, Neal spoke, staring at the floor. "Peter…"

"Yes?"

The words spilled out quickly. "Kate gave me a key to the storage unit that everything was in. There was a note." He passed the card over to Peter, looking quite stoic. "I – I feel… If I'd just told you when it happened, we could have recovered everything. Everything. And now… " Guilt swept through the younger man as he forged on. "I feel responsible for it all being lost again."

He looked up when he heard a sigh. Peter was watching him, brown eyes warm with compassion, yet tinged with something else. "Neal," he said, turning the card over and over in his hands, "I could have checked your tracker, traced your footsteps. I had my suspicions… but I didn't do anything. I feel just as guilty about the art as you do."

Neal looked at him, frowning. "But… why didn't you?"

Peter grimaced slightly. "I think you know that."

"Maybe I need to hear it."

The agent looked into blue eyes that were searching for answers, and took a deeper breath than he intended to. Wincing a bit against the ache, he shrugged. "Because I hoped you would show me. Because I really wanted to trust you. Because I hoped you would trust me enough to let me in on it." He shrugged again. "And I realize you didn't tell me because I think, deep down, you felt the same way about Kate.

Neal blinked, dropped his head. "I don't know what I thought."

"No?"

"I mean… it was all so confusing. All the little fears I'd held back for all those years, and they were just swept away when I saw her. It was amazing, Peter. Just… amazing." He looked up, his eyes a bit harder. "And in retrospect, a little unnerving."

"I can't imagine, Neal."

"But… you're right. I think underneath it all, I had this fantasy that she would say, 'Look! We can return all this and be'…" he stopped, searching for the word.

"Heroes?"

"Heroes…" Neal tilted his head a moment, tasting the word. "Yeah. I guess so."

The older agent took a deep breath. "Maybe you've been hanging out with the good guys long enough that you want to be one, too."

The con man shrugged, downcast. "Maybe…"

"Or maybe, and this is just an opinion, mind you –" Peter's gaze never wavered as Neal looked up cautiously. "You already _are_ one of the good guys. Just… in your own way. About the important things."

They looked at each other silently for a few moments, until Peter spoke again. "But when it comes down to it, we were both just waiting for someone we believe in to do the right thing." His eyes warmed to a grin. "And you did."

Neal looked at him thoughtfully. His voice was small, vulnerable. "Would you still have pulled me behind you if I hadn't tried to talk her out of it?"

Peter gave him a smirk as he stood, answering in a glib tone. "Wouldn't have had to, if you were still on her side."

Neal looked down, clearly a bit disappointed, but nodded. "Yeah. I guess so."

The agent noticed, and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder as he walked toward the kitchen. "Neal."

Blue eyes lifted to his face. "Yeah?"

"The straight answer is 'yes'." Peter gave the shoulder a squeeze. "No question, partner. No question."

oOo

Mozzie appeared almost magically as Elizabeth pulled a pan of brownies out of the oven, serving them still warm with coffee ice cream. She sat quietly listening as they discussed what might happen next. Peter took a spoonful of dessert, looked at his wife with profound approval, and then passed the card over to Moz.

"It almost looks like she typed it on the Enigma machine, doesn't it?"

"Well, since they're known for not having any punctuation, yes." Moz stared at the lettering and frowned as he ate. "I wonder if there's any code behind this."

"Could be. But with several hundred thousand variants of the code…" Neal gestured broadly with his spoon and shrugged. "Could be anything."

Peter agreed. "And meaningless now that we've changed the delivery sites, probably."

Mozzie shifted uncomfortably. "I did what I thought was best, okay, Suit?"

The agent looked almost confused. "Moz, I don't for a minute think what you did was wrong. In fact, if you hadn't done it, then everything would have been lost anyway – and I'm guessing, most of it disassembled or melted down." The little man shrugged, took another bite of dessert and looked thoroughly disconsolate.

"Well… I guess. I just feel…"

Peter and Neal spoke simultaneously. "Guilty?" Moz stared at them, and El held back a smile.

"Maybe," he said, defensively. "I must be hanging out with a bad element."

Neal gave him a grim, ironic smile. "Join the club."

The agent looked thoughtful for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair. "Mozzie. In all the business last night, I didn't get a chance to thank you."

Mozzie looked up at him suspiciously, as if being thanked was a dangerous thing. "For what, Suit?"

Peter felt Elizabeth's hand close over his as he spoke. "You warned me. I went in without ID or a gun or backup," he paused, looking over at Neal, "Which, by the way, is so phenomenally stupid that it would earn _you_ two weeks of office work." Giving El's hand a squeeze, he went on. "I only put on the vest that night because … of the way you sounded." The agent took a deep breath. "So you very likely saved both our lives. Thank you. I mean it."

Moz's eyes darted around the room as he sat perfectly still. "Well. Yes. I see." Then he looked over at Elizabeth, who was blinking rapidly. "You're welcome."

Peter nodded, and tapped his spoon on his brownie. "Moz… are you willing to help us find the plunder? You still know more about what might be – or might have been - on Trey's computer than any of us."

Moz looked at Neal first, then at Elizabeth, and finally back to Peter. "Well… I suppose. Don't expect me to show up at the office, Suit. This is strictly… voluntary."

The agent smiled. "Of course. I don't think I'll be able to make this a priority at work anyway. We've got no official proof that the treasures weren't destroyed…"

"Then let's agree to do it." Neal looked so earnest, so serious, that Peter and Moz found themselves looking at each other. "I'm not kidding. I'm promising, right now, to put all the time it takes into finding everything. Everything. Including… Kate." He paused to sip his coffee, and his expression was unwavering. "And when we find the stuff, it goes back to its original owners." With a grin to Moz, he added, "And we split any finders fees out there." He put his hand in the middle of the table. "Who's with me?"

The other three grinned at each other. Elizabeth moved first. "Don't know what I can do, but I'm in." She giggled. "So are we Burke's Four or Caffrey's Four?"

Peter looked at her, gave her a smirk, and put his hand over hers. "Me too. And we make it Caffrey's."

Mozzie shook his head, but put his hand in. "Yeah. But we're still going to need help."

"I've got a couple ideas," Peter said, "But phone calls will have to wait until Monday. Meanwhile, I think we can all use a day of rest."

* * *

oOo

* * *

The only thing Peter and Neal did that related to the case on Sunday was take an hour to drive to the storage facility and get the manager to open the unit in question. It was, of course, empty… except for a shattered wine bottle. Peter nearly winced when he saw it, but Neal's expression hardened. He pushed at the pieces with the toe of his shoe.

"I guess that's pretty clear."

"Neal…" the agent's voice was low. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." The younger man shook his head. "Don't be."

* * *

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

Monday dawned bright and clear, and both Neal and Peter felt much better physically after another good sleep and a full day off. After Peter endured a long debriefing with Hughes - even though he had _technically_ been off duty when he was shot - the partners convened briefly in Peter's office.

Peter looked a bit worn, but Neal was clearly anxious to get started. "So… what's the plan?"

Agent Burke almost laughed, but rubbed his eyes. "The plan is that we work on the bank case that we've been assigned."

"But, Peter –"

"Neal. You're expected to do crazy things. I'm not. Hughes was ready to suspend me."

The younger man's expression became more concerned. "Are you worried?"

Peter exhaled loudly. "Not really. But I don't blame him. I'd feel the same way if it were you. I'd feel... responsible." Neal gave a resigned nod, and glanced over toward Hughes' office.

"So what do we do?"

"We play nice." Burke picked up a file and handed it to Neal. "Diana said you were checking into a dummy account that one of the bank officers had set up?"

"Yes."

"Then let's be good little worker bees, at least for a day or two. In the meantime, Diana is working on getting the remains of Trey's hard drive released to us." Neal looked disappointed, and Peter grinned. "We'll look into it soon, okay? Now do me a favor, and pose as an FBI consultant. Got it?"

Neal finally grinned. "Got it, _boss_," he said with a little salute, and went out to join Diana and Jones in the bullpen.

Peter carefully watched him leave. As soon as he was downstairs, the agent punched up the FBI directory on his computer and picked up the phone. After a quick search, he glanced around surreptitiously and dialed a number. A terse, distracted voice answered.

"Fornell."

Peter put on his most diplomatic tone. "Special Agent Fornell? This is Peter Burke in New York. White Collar division. I don't know if you remember me, but we met at your lecture a few months ago, about inter-agency cooperation?"

There was a moment, then a short laugh on the other end. "Peter? Yes, of course I remember you. You compared inter-agency cooperation with your consultant program. As I recall you ruffled a few feathers, comparing other agencies to convicted felons… although it works for me. What can I do for you?"

Agent Burke took a deep breath. "When we had coffee after the conference, I remember you talking about a really great computer forensic specialist… "

* * *

oOo

* * *

_please feed the author…_


	13. Outside Help

_And just a bit of borrowing later… _

* * *

_**Collar 2.6.1: Outside Help**_

* * *

Special Agent Fornell shrugged into the phone. "I do know of a great team… unfortunately, they're not mine. Not even 'ours', if you want to put it that way."

Peter nodded at his desk. "I got that impression when we were talking. I don't know if I even want to guess…"

"Ha. I wouldn't. Listen, Peter, if it's important enough for you to get in touch with me, it must be something big… and I know better than to ask. Let me talk to their boss. If things aren't too crazy for them at the moment, he might be willing to listen."

"…'might be willing'? Doesn't sound like he's too fond of outside jobs. Or is it just the FBI he doesn't like?"

Fornell exhaled heavily. "Let's just say he's pretty damn protective of his team, and with good reason."

Burke looked thoughtful. "Should I email him the details? Maybe if he knew what we were looking into –"

"Save yourself the typing. If you have access to the technology wing at your office, you might try talking to him at the MTAC. Otherwise… your best bet is to get down here and talk to him in person. And for the love of God, don't try texting…"

Peter couldn't help but smile at his tone. "I think I'm getting the picture, here. Listen, Agent Fornell –"

"Tobias is fine, Peter."

"Thank you. Tobias – I appreciate anything you can do to grease the way. I'd tell you more - "

"But you're not really working on it. Right?"

"Right."

Tobias chuckled lightly. "Sounds like you two may just hit it off. Listen, I've got to head over there anyway, we've got an argument scheduled – or lunch, take your pick. I'll feel him out, and get back to you."

"Can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I look forward to hearing from you, Sir. Ah - Tobias." Peter corrected himself with a grin.

"Well, if you do get down here, maybe we can have a cup of coffee again. Any tips on dealing with the 'felons' are helpful for me." They exchanged a friendly good-bye, and hung up.

Peter blew out a breath and stretched his neck. Pulling a file folder out of the pile on his desk, he went down to chat with his team.

* * *

oOo

* * *

Two highly regarded Special Agents from two different government agencies in Washington DC – one FBI, the other Naval Criminal Investigative Service, were standing in a stopped elevator. It was far from bright, but the short, silvery hair of the agent Tobias was talking to still sparkled in the emergency lighting over suspicious, ice blue eyes.

"What do you want them for?"

"Not me, Jethro. It's our white collar unit in New York."

The other agent gave him a disparaging look, clearly unimpressed. "Listen, Tobias. It's finally calming down after them being at it for nearly a month. I hate to put any pressure on any of them right now, _especially_ from the FBI…"

Fornell had to grin. "Yeah, I know how much _they_ hate working with us. But I also know how much they love a challenge…" The other agent tossed his head to the side, in a movement resembling nothing so much as a headstrong racehorse. Tobias knew that as much of a tough guy as Special Agent L.J. Gibbs made himself out to be – hell, as much as he _was_ - he cared about his team as if they were his own kids. Behind their backs, of course. Fornell went on. "So give _them_ the choice, then. I only told Burke that I'd open the door, not that anything was guaranteed."

Gibbs rubbed his forehead and ran his hand back through his obviously self-cut hair. "You think McGee and Abbs?"

"For computer forensics?" Tobias gave him a flat look. "You know anyone better?"

Gibbs gave him a shrug that only involved his eyebrows. "Fine. I'll talk to your guy. Burke, you said?"

"Peter Burke. I have a feeling you'll get along."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

The other agent slapped a file folder into Gibbs' chest. "Read his file. I think cowboys understand each other." Then he reached over, and flipped the switch to turn the elevator back on. "I've got to get back to the office. We'll talk."

Gibbs was already flipping through the pages. "Right," he said, distractedly.

"See you soon."

"We'll see." Gibbs called after him as he stepped off the elevator. "No promises."

"So what's new?"

Jethro favored his retreating form with a rare, blue-eyed smile as he shook his head before hitting the button for Abby's floor, and starting to read again.

* * *

oOo

* * *

"Hey, boss?" Peter looked up at Diana as she approached him, her expression overly subtle. "Got a minute?"

"Sure." They detoured into the break room, and she scanned it briefly to make sure it was empty before she spoke. "I have a box with the personal effects of your hit and run."

Burke blinked, taken aback. "That was fast."

"Someone owed me a favor. And no one seems to think that this case is going anywhere…" The beautiful agent's mouth twisted in a wry grin. "Either that, or – and this is my suspicion – Hughes is just fine with you looking into this, but can't say so." Her head tilted as her arms crossed on her chest. "Am I right?"

Agent Burke's mouth opened, but there was no quick half-truth to tell. He looked back at Diana. "You may be." He patted her shoulder. "Thanks, Diana. Good work." He started to walk back into the bullpen, but her voice turned him around.

"Peter."

"Yes?"

"I want in."

"Diana… you don't even know what –"

"Look. Someone shot you. From what I gather, it was Moreau. A fortune in Nazi plunder has been destroyed..." She saw his eyes glance at her quickly, and shook her head. "Or so it has been _reported_. There's a lot going on here, and you can't just expect me to –"

Peter lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay. You're right." He took a step closer. "But this is another one of _those_ cases, Diana. It's not necessarily going to help your career. In fact…"

She held up a hand to stop him, stared for a moment into his eyes, and slowly smiled. Her teeth sparkled before she laughed. "Come on, boss. We both know those are the most fun…"

His eyes rolled as he tried to look annoyed. "Someone has been a _very_ bad influence on you." He was halfway out of the break room when he realized what she said next, and stopped dead to turn and give her an affronted glare.

"Yeah, well, find a mirror, boss."

He opened his mouth to retaliate when something else she said registered. "Did you say 'personal effects'? As in, _more_ than the hard drive?"

"Yes. There was a knapsack, with some bags… and they didn't even make me sign for it. Just said they were keeping 'the larger gems and pieces." They looked at each other for a long moment, before he turned to look toward Hughes' office, his eyebrows peaking.

"Oh." Giving a headshake shrug, he quietly mumbled to her, "I guess someone _does_ want me to keep looking. And showing me just enough of the carrot to keep me moving."

* * *

oOo

* * *

Special Agent Gibbs stood in the lab and sighed as he looked at the best forensic scientist he had ever worked with. Efficient, brilliant, young, beautiful, and… carefully, almost tactically Goth. Black bangs hung perfectly straight to her eyebrows, while the rest of her hair had been parted into pigtails that stood out from her head, tied with elastics adorned with tiny white skulls. A spider web tattoo climbed her neck, and her naturally pale complexion was accented by dark makeup.

Sometimes he wondered if his own daughter would have turned out anything like Abby, and the thought always made him shake his head. Abby went a long way toward filling a space in his heart that had been ripped away, and he couldn't be more proud of her – but...

Next to him, watching as Abby drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the stainless lab table, was Special Agent Timothy McGee. Clean cut, conservative in appearance, best-selling novelist, an excellent field agent and the finest computer specialist you could ask for. Gibbs wondered, not for the first time, how these two managed to even _begin_ the on-again off-again relationship that they kept so quiet. _Not that it mattered. As long as it didn't affect the team, or the job_… and in the privacy of his mind, he even approved. The bizarre combination seemed to do them both good. _And they worked together like –_

"Lox and bagels."

Gibbs frowned incredulously at her, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head. "What are you talking about, Abbs?"

"Lox and bagels. I haven't been to New York in a while… I miss the lox and bagels. If we went, Timmy, we could get some." McGee lifted his eyebrows, glanced sideways at Gibbs, and shrugged. She gave them a look. "What. You don't like lox and bagels?"

"Abbs, that's not the point. I'm trying to tell you that this isn't a real case – it's just –"

"But Gibbs! If it's big enough that some FBI guy that we don't even know talked to Fornell, who _he_ doesn't even know to get to _you_, who he knows even less, to get to _us_, who he doesn't know at all… well. I think that four degrees of separation make it interesting already. Even if we _don't_ know what it's about." She took a sip of cola and dared him to disagree. Gibbs, as was often the case with Abby, felt his tenuous grasp of the conversation slipping away. She returned his incredulous glare with a touch of adolescent rebellion. "Well, it's true!"

"Actually, it's three." McGee shifted nervously as they both focused their exasperation on him. Someday he would learn to stop drawing fire at moments like this.

"Three?"

"Well… yeah. We know Fornell, so the first guy doesn't count…as far as… ah… degrees of separation…"

Gibbs rolled his eyes, and nearly whacked McGee on the back of the head. Instead, he took a breath and shrugged, his shoulders dropping hard. "You both have comp days coming. What you do with them is up to you." He looked back and forth between the two. "But he can come here first to tell you what it's about. I'm not having them waste your time. Got it?"

Abby saluted sharply as he walked back to the elevator. "Aye aye, Gibbs!" Then she looked at Tim. "I hope it's interesting. I'm beginning to get bored."

McGee shook his head. "After a whole three days of it being slow here?"

She grinned, the bright girlish smile an even more striking contrast against her black lipstick. "Well, yeah. Aren't you?"

* * *

oOo

* * *

Neal looked up as Peter trotted down the stairs. "What's up?"

"I have to make a day trip to DC."

"Conference?"

Burke gave a kind of sideways nod. "Sort of…"

Neal looked around quickly, and spoke quietly. "You have something?"

Peter tried unsuccessfully to look at him blandly. "Not yet." Then he moved a step closer, his voice dropping lower. "There's a team there that may be able to find something on the drive."

The younger man frowned. "But – it's smashed."

"Yeah, I know." Peter gave him a grin. "But I have a feeling that if there's anything at all to find on it, even smashed, it's these guys. I'll be gone tomorrow, back in the afternoon. Hopefully either with them or some info." He looked up at Diana, who had managed to be close enough to hear the end of the conversation. "Diana, keep an eye on things. Jones is going to run the pickup of the bank security manager. Back him up."

Neal was about to protest that he wanted to go when Peter spoke again, poking a finger at his chest. "You - help them any way you can. Keep us all looking good. The only way Hughes is going to keep supporting this is if we can keep it quiet. And play by the book. If we can nail this guy, it'll go a long way. Got it?"

Diana and Neal looked at each other briefly, and back to Peter. "Got it."

The consultant waited for Diana to walk away before he spoke again. "Peter?"

"Yes?"

Neal tried to form a sentence. "What if it – if they –"

The anxious look in his eyes spoke volumes to his partner, who nodded thoughtfully. "If they can't do anything, we find another way. We keep at it." He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "We made a promise, Neal. We'll do it."

* * *

oOo

* * *

Peter was met in the NCIS lobby in DC and escorted to the forensics lab by a slightly younger, affable man who introduced himself as Special Agent Timothy McGee. "I was probably referred to as 'the computer geek'," he said, with a self-deprecating grin.

"Ah, yes, I think you might have been." Peter shook his hand with a smile. "Peter. Burke. Likely referred to as 'the stuffed shirt from the FBI'. Thanks for meeting with me, I know this is all a little odd."

"Oh, we have odd a lot around here."

"Strange cases?"

"Those, too." When they got downstairs, McGee tapped on the door.

The FBI agent wasn't quite prepared for Abigail Sciuto, but did his best to not react to the extreme makeup, tattoos, and gothic jewelry. _Oh… odd_, he thought. _ I see what he means._ As externally he smiled and shook her hand, internally he was cataloging the items he just _had_ to tell El about.

"Special Agent Peter Burke," she said, as if it were some kind of accusation. The girl walked around him, her eyes narrow. "So you're the FBI guy."

"I am." He smiled at her uncertainly. "And you must be the best forensic scientist on the planet."

Her eyes narrowed further as she paced around him, although it only made her look more like she might be a sixth grade queen bee. "And where did you get this information?"

Peter glanced at Tim, who was shaking his head at her 'interrogation' techniques, and decided honesty was the best policy. "Ah… Special Agent Tobias Fornell. He spoke incredibly highly of you both."

She stopped, stared at him, and leaned forward to look into his eyes. He returned her look, his brown eyes wide with guileless curiosity. After a moment she nodded and turned to Tim with a bright smile, her attitude changing as if a cloud had stopped blocking the sun. "I like him." She looked back to Peter. "You can call me Abby." Peter's eyebrows lifted helplessly.

"Thank you? I mean -"

He looked at McGee, who motioned toward her office.

"Why don't we sit down?"

They were settling around a table in the back room and Peter was just ready to start when an older agent walked in as if he owned the place. Peter found himself, along with McGee, standing instantly. The man seemed to command a certain, solemn respect -

"Gibbs!" Abby jumped up and ran over to him, giving him a hug. "This is Special Agent Peter Burke. I like him."

"Oh?" Gibbs gave Burke a suspicious look.

"He's got good energy. His aura is terrific. Can't you tell?"

Burke and Gibbs stood a few paces apart, sizing each other up. Peter smiled through a curious frown, extended his hand as he tilted his head. "Special Agent Gibbs?"

"Yes." The former Marine took the offered hand and shook it firmly. Burke refrained from massaging the bones back into place.

"You look very familiar…"

Gibbs squinted at him thoughtfully. "You, too. We probably met at one of those inter-agency conferences or something."

Peter nodded slowly. "Yeah…probably… something like that."

They settled down at the table, and Peter opened his briefcase. "Let me just give you the basic story of what's been going on…"

* * *

oOo

* * *

An hour later, Abby was drinking her second cup of caf-pow, her chin in her hand, fascinated, as Peter finished. "And after we got out of the hospital, we found out that Trey had been killed by a hit and run driver – very likely Ms. Moreau herself. And his laptop was essentially destroyed."

McGee was fascinated as well, but more pragmatic in his approach. "Listen, Agent Burke –"

"_Peter_, please."

The younger agent nodded thanks. "Peter. I'm not sure what we can do with a smashed drive… I mean…"

"I know. I'm not looking for promises. It's just - the only lead we have right now. Any little thing that might help figure this out…" He shook his head. "I'll be honest, it just feels like it's been so long without any justice for so many people…"

Gibbs looked back and forth between his people as Peter pulled one of the bags that had been in Trey's knapsack out of his briefcase. He knew that Tim had been struggling with plot lines lately, and leaned over to speak quietly. "Kinda sounds like a novel, doesn't it."

McGee's eyes widened as he looked at his boss. "Well… It really… kind of _does_…" Gibbs gave half a grin as he watched Tim's eyes fade with a small frown into another universe. They looked back to the table in time to see Peter hand the bag over to Abby.

"Trey was paid with several pounds of broken bits of gold from the Nazi horde, and some jewelry… if we do find anything, we're going to need help identifying them as well. I've got an arts expert on my team –"

While he spoke, Abby had grabbed a tray and spilled the contents of the bag onto it. With a pencil, she poked through the little gold nuggets and bits with avid curiosity - and suddenly frowned. One piece had caught her eye. Ignoring the men as they stared at her, she pulled over an illuminated magnifying glass, and took some forceps off her desk. She picked the piece up and turned it around under the light, stared, and put it down again carefully. When she looked up, her expression was fierce, her eyes hard as she bit down on her lower lip.

"Abbs?" Tim looked over at her. Abby rarely looked angry, but anger was among the emotions playing across her face now – along with looking a little ill. "You okay?"

She ignored him, looked at Gibbs, opened her mouth, and closed it again. Then she looked at Peter. Standing, she swallowed hard. "I'm in. I'll need to work from here, though, 'cause my equipment is here -" Then she fled from the room. Gibbs stood up, ready to go after her, but stopped, stared accusingly at Burke.

"What the hell did she find?"

Peter lifted his hands and shook his head, his eyes wide. "I haven't looked through anything yet, really –"

Tim stepped over to her magnifying glass and frowned, poking through the little chunks of gold beneath. "I can't imagine – oh." His expression changed. "Oh." He picked up a small object, and held it up to examine it more closely. His eyes were a little shocked, but his voice was solid as rock. "I'm in, Agent Burke. I don't know what I can do to help, but… I'm in too." He put the object down on the table between them. "Excuse me. I'll make sure Abby's okay," he said, following after where she had gone.

Gibbs and Burke looked at each other, one with a suspicious glare, the other puzzled. Together they looked down at what could possibly have caused such a reaction.

Lying on the table was a bit of gold. A small nugget shape, maybe a quarter inch across. Gibbs tapped it with his finger, and it rolled over to show its other side. Something white and pearly glimmered there, and it took a moment for them to understand what this bit of Nazi plunder was.

It looked like the broken, pearl-like remains of _something_. Realization dawned on both their faces. It had to be -

- a _tooth_.

The older agents looked at each other once more. Gibbs lifted his chin toward the gold. "You need _anything_," he said, quietly, "You let me know."

Peter nodded solemnly. "I will."

* * *

oOo

* * *

_please feed the author…_


	14. Drive

…_and our boys reconnect. _

* * *

_**Collar 2.6.1: Drive **_

* * *

Peter and Gibbs were silently staring at the table when abruptly the lab door opened again and an older, quite dignified gentleman walked in. He was speaking brightly in an accent that held a soft Scottish edge, and sounded as if he expected Abby to already be listening. He paged through a file as he entered, shaking his head in fascination.

"As I said on the phone, Abigail, I thought this would be interesting, especially for someone who –" He looked up from the file of pictures he was holding, and saw Gibbs and his guest for the first time. "Oh, I _am_ sorry, Jethro. I was looking for Abigail. Have some _amazing_ pictures here of a necrotic liver, which is truly _unusual_, considering -"

Gibbs shot a look at Peter and interrupted his old friend before he swung into full lecture mode. "It's alright, Ducky. She stepped out for a minute." Peter noticed that he put a hand on the man's shoulder with some affection as he gestured vaguely toward the table. "This is Special Agent Peter Burke. Abby and McGee are going to be helping him out with some… things." Peter rose to shake his hand, and they murmured pleasantries as Gibbs added, "Dr. Mallard is our Chief Medical Examiner."

Peter could hear the unforced respect in Gibb's voice, and treated the man accordingly. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

Dr. Mallard tilted his head and gave Peter an appraising, not unfriendly look. "You're not NCIS, my good man, are you." It wasn't a question, and Peter grinned.

"No, sir, I'm not."

The look carried on a moment longer. "FBI, then?"

Peter had to laugh. "Is it written on my forehead?"

Ducky chuckled in return. "Nearly, my friend, nearly. And 'Ducky' is fine. Any friend of Jethro's –" He stopped, seeing the bits of gold on the tray, and moved closer.

"Bits and pieces of gold, eh? My word." He frowned thoughtfully. "Reminds me of this one time I was in Poland, studying the efficiency of techniques used on the forensic evidence of the war crimes tribunal…" He looked off into the distance, into the past. "An absolutely _horrifying_ experience. Bits of burned bones, carefully catalogued. Oh, and the Nazi victim's bodies desecrated remains, boxes of dentures and gold teeth that had been torn out after they'd been gassed to death –" He shook his head. "Even teeth with the most _miniscule_ gold fillings. Seeing those bits of _real_ people though, even after all those years, made it far more human than any file, or even photograph could. Had quite the effect on me. And some of the reports! The commanders so _proud_ of their output, as if they had been panning for the gold, as if it was rightfully –" He halted abruptly, as the small piece still sitting in the center of the table caught his eye. He reached for it but his hand stopped, took up Abby's forceps, and he picked it up with them instead; almost as if it was fresh evidence. His expression froze as he looked up at them with some shock. "Jethro. This is almost certainly…" he looked rapidly between the stoic faces of his friend and the FBI agent, and his voice held the flat, crisp tone of a younger man, the horror fresh once more. "Where did you get this?"

"Ducky –"

"No, Jethro – if someone is profiting –" He stopped, tried with marginal success to compose himself. "Where did it come from?"

Special Agent Burke spoke quietly. "It's a long story, Dr. Mallard."

Ducky sat down. "I should like to hear it, then."

* * *

oOo

* * *

A day later, Tim McGee took a breath of fresh air, appreciating the New York sunshine as he walked across the park. Checking his GPS, he glanced around and saw a collection of benches in a shady copse of trees, and sighed. The look that Peter and Neal had exchanged when they told him where to go for this meeting – no, _gave him the coordinates_ for the meeting - had him feeling like a probie all over again… that 'we're telling you what you need to know but not everything, just so you'll be surprised' look. He sat down, looked around, and remembered what came next. Taking the newspaper out from under his arm, he carefully opened it to the entertainment section.

He couldn't help but notice a man sitting on a bench nearby, wearing a carry-all bag slung across his chest. He was short and bald, with glasses that would have made Buddy Holly envious. The little man reached into his bag and pulled out a sack of peanuts that he opened, tossing them sporadically to a squirrel that was so bold as to complain when he stopped. When Tim had been sitting for a couple minutes, the man moved to the bench behind him, so they were essentially back to back. The squirrel followed.

McGee shrugged mentally. _New York_. He was trying to distract himself with the book reviews when the man behind him cleared his throat.

"Ahem."

Tim frowned, his eyes looking to the side, but said nothing. _ That guy didn't just clear his throat, he actually _said_ 'ahem'. Weird. _ The man spoke aloud, in an overly casual voice.

"It's a lovely day for the city, don't you think?"

Tim blinked rapidly. He thought Neal and Peter were kidding about a password. _Great. _ _Now what was that countersign?_ "Ah… yes. Ah…" He licked his lips, and looked up, trying to remember. "Right. And the birds are singing. It must be spring."

The little man fidgeted, throwing the squirrel another nut. "What kind?" he whispered under his breath.

Tim whispered back, frowning. "What kind?"

"Yes! What kind of birds are singing?"

McGee looked panicked. "Oh! Right." He stopped whispering and spoke in a more normal voice. "The robins are singing."

The little man nodded, waiting, making a little 'go on' motion with his hand.

"Aaand… oh, right. The robins are singing, it must be spring – look," he said, turning around in exasperation. "Can we just get on with this?"

The little man gave an exasperated snort, and the squirrel did too when he stuffed the sack back into his shoulder bag. "You know, I had such hopes for you." He scurried around the bench and sat next to McGee. "Here." He passed a sandwich over to Tim, who stared at it in puzzlement.

"Um… thank you?" When nothing was said, he shrugged and began to open the wrappings. "I didn't get a chance to grab lunch, it's been –"

The little man shouted a whisper. "Don't eat it! It has the flash drive in it. The one with the number generator?"

Tim stared at the sandwich that was halfway to his mouth, and looked over at the little man again. "You _are_ Haversham, right?"

Mozzie gave him a disparaging look, his shoulders dropping heavily. "Oh, nice, Navy Suit. Just scream it from the rooftops."

Tim looked down at his jeans and casual sport coat. "Navy suit? I'm not wearing a –"

"Never mind!" The little man got up and scurried away, then sauntered slowly back, studying the ground as if he had dropped something. The squirrel made a noise. "You can contact me through the info on the drive." For a moment he looked at the NCIS agent, and it felt to Tim like a bit of sanity leaked through. "This is important, okay? You find anything, you need anything, you let me know. Good luck."

Then he was off again, the squirrel following him, making annoyed noises until the little man frantically dumped the rest of the peanuts in a heap and practically ran from the park.

Tim stared after him in amazement. He frowned, looked at the sandwich, and shook his head. Then he carefully rewrapped it, put it in his pocket, and took out a notebook. _I have got to get this on paper_… he tapped his pen against his notebook thoughtfully and wrote;

_Dante Haversham-_

And then crossed it out. Squinting a frown, he suddenly smiled, and wrote instead;

_For L.J. Tibbs, meeting Alighieri Wolverton was like stepping into the student-directed version of a noir film…_

He sat and scribbled for half an hour before he looked up, startled, and realized he should get back to the FBI headquarters._  
_

* * *

oOo

* * *

It was Friday. Neal was sitting in the bullpen, staring at a file that he finally realized he wasn't really reading, even after three tries. He dropped it, tossed the pen into the pile of papers on the desk and sighed. Diana glanced up briefly at the sound, then looked up again. "You okay, Caffrey?"

"Pardon?" Neal blinked, shook his head. "Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm just…"

She gave him a knowing grin. "These things take time."

He managed a laugh. "Yeah. I guess I'm just not used to being out of the loop." The agent nodded.

"I hear you."

"How do you stand it?"

"Stand what…the waiting for information? For verification? For…" she flipped through the papers on her desk. "Warrants?" He nodded, honestly puzzled.

"Yeah. What do you do?"

She gave a voluptuous shrug and stretch that on another woman would have made him think twice – and even so…

"Just… stay busy. Have a couple of things going at once, so that when you have to sit on one, something else occupies your mind."

Neal shook his head. "This one has a pretty large claim staked out in my mind, I'm afraid."

She smirked at him. "Ha. You're almost as bad as the boss was when he was chasing you –"

They both looked up toward Peter's office, and saw he was standing there, pointing at Neal. He made the 'come here' gesture, and Neal glanced back to Diana with a dazzling smile as he pushed back his chair. "Finally!"

"Don't get too excited," she said, giving him a droll look in return. "He might just want coffee."

Neal's eyes widened for a moment. "Hope not." Then he trotted up the stairs, following Peter into his office. "So? What's up?"

"Tim says he may have found something…"

Neal nodded. "And?"

Peter smiled ironically at the expression on his partner's face. One thing he hadn't learned as a con man was _patience_. At least not with processes that he had no control over. "Well, as he said when he was here, the drive was a mess. But the two of them evidently managed to bridge a couple things together, using Mozzie's generator program as –"

"Peter, you're _killing_ me…"

The older agent turned. "Patience, grasshopper."

Neal dropped his head. He realized that if he pushed any harder, Peter would just slow down even more to be contrary. "Okay." He leaned back in the guest chair, purposely giving the appearance of being nonchalant. "So, how is Tim, anyway? Did he have a good flight back? I should give him a call." The blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "He wanted more of a description of Moz, not to mention any personality details I could give him for the new FBI agent he's writing in…"

Peter pursed his lips, trying not to laugh before he looked at the pad in his hand. "He says they found three names that he flagged when they were going through the data so far, along with partials of the delivery tracking numbers. Mostly corrupt, but I told him anything was better than nothing. 'Montrey Storage', in Cleveland; 'Treyback Storage, in Vancouver, and …" he looked again, "'Antrey Temporary Storage', which appears to be in Albany."

The younger man frowned thoughtfully. "All have 'trey' in the name."

"Correct. And they share some similarities on some of the tracking data they recovered. May mean nothing, but then again…"

Neal's eyes were bright but hesitant when he looked back to him. "Not a lot to go on."

"No, but we've found that hackers can be notoriously vain. Kind of like forgers who can't resist signing their work." They exchanged a wry look. "With having to find two hundred destinations, who could blame him?"

"So – do you want me to call?"

"Already tried. No service. No solid address, just an industrial park. Almost like it was never really there…" They made eye contact once more, and the agent shrugged. "Feel like taking a field trip?"

Neal's face broke into a wide grin and he glanced at the clock. "When do we leave?"

The agent grinned back at the boyish excitement. "Since it's late already, I thought tonight – find a motel to crash and check the area out in the morning. See what we can find in the way of freelance delivery trucks. I've let the local police know what we'll be up to…"

The younger man nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "It's what, about three hours on the 87?"

"About that."

"Sounds good, then." He rapped his knuckles on Peter's desktop and turned to leave.

"Neal."

Caffrey turned again, one hand on the door, his eyebrows raised.

Peter gave him a more serious look. "Don't get your hopes up too high. This could be for nothing."

The con man looked at him for a long moment, before he shrugged, the smile breaking free again. "Or maybe not…"

* * *

oOo

* * *

They drove to June's first, where Neal changed and packed an overnight bag in record time. When they stopped at Peter's, it took a bit longer. Elizabeth was out meeting with a client, and Peter had to greet and feed Satch. Then he had Neal take the dog out for a walk while he got changed and threw a bag together. He was just hunting through his closet for a lighter jacket when he heard Neal at the bottom of the stairs.

"We're back. You ready?"

Peter gave a bit of a groan. "Ahhh… Almost. Come on up."

Neal trotted up the stairs and waited in the hallway. After a few moments, Peter stuck his head out. "You can come in, you know." He grinned to himself at his younger partner's sudden sense of decorum. Although they had made him more than welcome in their home, he had never been in their bedroom – and clearly, that was some kind of boundary for Neal. It was actually nice to see.

Still, once invited, Neal walked into the room and glanced around curiously. "Nice."

"Thanks," Peter nodded, glancing around himself. "All El."

"I'm sure. But… classy. Comfortable. Not girly."

Peter snorted a laugh. "Elizabeth's a woman. Not 'girly' at all."

"True…"

"Can you hand me that belt?" Peter motioned toward the closet, and pointed at the rack of ties and belts inside the door. "The casual one – brown."

Nodding, Neal stepped into the closet and took the belt off the hook. His eyes strayed up to a sturdy hatbox on a shelf inside. "Hey – is there _really_ a Stetson in there?"

For a moment Peter hesitated. Then he took the proffered belt and nodded, threading it into his jeans. "Yeah. There is."

"Fedora? Wait, no – let me guess. Porkpie?"

The agent rolled his eyes. "No. It was a gift from El." He looked at the questioning blue eyes and sighed before reaching up to take the box down. "Don't make me regret showing you this." He opened it with a certain reverence that kept Neal from laughing when he saw what was inside, although his eyes widened.

Inside the box was a pristine white cowboy hat.

Neal's eyebrows lifted with a smile, though, as he gave Peter a sideways glance. The agent didn't return it immediately, but took a small card from inside and held it where both he and Neal could read it.

_For a man who is definitely one of the good guys… I know you won't wear it outside, but in my heart, you'll always have it on… I love you. Always yours, El_

Neal looked back at Peter and couldn't help but see the look of love and pride on his face. The younger man grinned. "Good guys wear the white hats, eh?" Peter didn't say anything, and Neal shook his head. "Wow. She really got you with this one, didn't she?"

The older agent finally made eye contact. "Yeah. Our fifth anniversary."

The younger man nodded, gave the hat an appraising look. "That's a great hat."

"Yep." Peter carefully replaced the card and cover of the box, placing it with delicacy back in its place on the shelf. "And a good reminder."

They were on the road for exactly twenty-six minutes before they started arguing about whether they would listen to a Rat Pack CD or the hockey game.

* * *

oOo

* * *

It was late in the evening when they pulled up to the motel, checked in and trotted up the stairs to the outdoor balcony that led to their room. They had stopped to pick up some beer and ordered a pizza from the lobby. While they were waiting, Peter pulled out his cell phone and walked outside. "I'll be back."

Neal nodded, and thoughtfully pulled out his own phone. After a few moments of inner debate, he opened it as he walked out, and was scanning through numbers when he almost tripped over the figure sitting at the top of the nearby stairs. His partner looked up at him with a grin, and acted more annoyed than he looked. "Hey! Find your own stairs."

Startled, Neal turned and walked the other way to find a quiet spot of his own. As he walked away, he heard Peter chuckle as he said indignantly into the phone, "What? No, I don't remember _ever_ saying I wanted a little brother…"

The con man grinned to himself. Taking a deep breath, he hit send and waited. A distracted voice answered.

"Sara Ellis."

He took a deep breath. "Sara?"

A bare pause, in which he was sure she was checking her caller ID, brought her back to attention. "Neal?"

"Yeah, - yes, it's me." He swallowed. "How are you?"

"I'm good, good…" She exhaled, almost laughed. "Well, aren't we awkward."

His voice was smiling when he spoke again. "Well, yes, but we do awkward so well. So _naturally_."

"Yes, we do." She did laugh this time, and there was a longish pause. "How are you holding up?"

Neal frowned, and realized she was asking about Kate. He wondered how much she knew, how and how much she was just guessing at. "Sara –"

"Not trying to pry, Neal. But I've heard a bit…"

He sighed. "You're not prying. And… I'd like to tell you all about it. But in person. Would that be alright?"

Her silence seemed undecided. "Well –"

"Sara. You don't owe me anything. I've been… amazingly stupid."

"Neal –"

"No, I have. And I am, frankly, embarrassed by it…"

"Neal." She sighed. "Trust me. There's never any reason to be embarrassed for your feelings."

"But there is for your _actions_…" It was quiet again for a bit. "I guess what I'm saying is, I'd like to have another chance to… well… try not to be stupid." He pulled the phone away from his mouth, his eyes wide, and smacked the side of it slowly against his head. Where was his famed eloquence when he needed it? Where was his ability to talk his way around any situation? Or was that the point… he didn't really _want_ to talk his way around this. He really wanted to know how this particular woman would respond if he was honest with her…

He put the phone back to his ear in time to hear her exhale with some exasperation. "You know, you are the most – "

"I know." He blinked, and while he tried not to show it, his voice sounded just a bit sad. "I'm sorry to bother you. I'll let you go –"

She interrupted him. "You most certainly will _not_."

Neal froze at her tone. It sounded much more like the woman whose bedroom he had broken into, the one who pulled a gun on him, and it threw him entirely. Just when he'd grown accustomed to her being a bit hesitant and thoughtful with him. "…oh?"

"I'll tell you _exactly_ what you're going to do, Mr. Caffrey. You're going to finish up whatever you're doing by tomorrow night at seven. Got it?"

"Ah –"

"And then you're going to pick me up at the airport."

He looked around a little desperately. "Flight number?"

"Seven o'clock from Boston to JFK. I firmly believe you or your sources can figure out how to find that information."

"But JFK – that's a good fifteen miles outside my –"

"I also firmly believe that you can find some way to make it work. _Legally_. If you really _want_ to." She paused, and her voice was a bit more smug when she spoke again. "And then you will take me back to my apartment -"

"Um, outside my radius for sure, and I _really_ don't want to bring Jones or Peter along to your apartment –"

"Well… _Your_ apartment, then, where we will have a glass of wine and perhaps a nice cheeseboard while you confess your deepest, darkest secrets."

His eyes widened. "Ah –"

"Oh, all right." She gave a little laugh at her own boldness even as it faded a bit. "You'll confess your... your _out-in-the-open_ secrets. But in person. So we can … talk about them." By the time she finished, she sounded almost shy, but still attempted to retain her forceful tone. "Deal?"

"Well…" He could practically hear her holding her breath, waiting for his answer. "Ah… Am I responsible for the cheese as well as the wine?"

The relief in her voice was worth it. "We'll pick something up."

"Then, yes." He nodded in the dark on the stairs. "Then we have a deal."

"Well, good." There was a pause.

"Goodnight, Sara. See you tomorrow." He opened his mouth, closed it again. When he finally spoke, it was very quietly. "Thank you."

There was another pause, but this one was soft, and warm. "Goodnight, Neal. Good luck."

The connection broke, and he sat in the dark on the stairs for a few minutes, staring at the phone. Eventually, he stood and stretched, his smile catching the starlight as he trotted back to their room.

Peter gave him a knowing look when he walked in. "How'd it go?"

"Can you drive me to JFK tomorrow? Seven o'clock?"

The agent looked thoughtful for a moment. "Sure." He smirked at his partner. "As long as you promise to be a gentleman."

Blue eyes rolled. "Thanks."

The pizza arrived, and Neal found a movie to watch. Afterwards they stayed up for a while discussing the finer points of _The Other Guys_. Both of them were too wired to fall asleep right away, yet too tired to not try - so they hit their beds, still talking in the dark like brothers trying to stay awake without waking their parents... until the comments and chuckles spaced farther and farther apart, and faded eventually into silence.

Each of them believed he was the last one awake.

* * *

oOo

* * *

…_please toss a peanut to the author…_


	15. Discovery

…_this may be enough to get me through to June… _

* * *

oOo

_**Collar 2.6.1: Discovery**_

oOo

* * *

Peter woke to the sound of the motel door creaking and a whiff of fresh coffee. He frowned even before his eyes were fully open, and was sitting up with a combination of confusion and anger on his face, trying to interpret what he saw before he was actually awake.

Neal was standing in the open doorway, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He was juggling the door, a carrier with two cups of coffee, and a paper bag as he looked out into the hall. He called quietly to someone outside. "Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate it." He gestured with his head toward the inside of the room. "Do you need to see him?" There was a mumble from outside, and a head popped in for a moment, saw Peter frowning blearily at him, and grinned.

"Mornin', Agent Burke. He's all yours." The man nodded to Neal and called back as he walked down the hall. "Lemme know when you're in town again, buddy. We'll have another game. You have my number, right?"

Caffrey laughed. "You bet. Thanks again."

"No problem. Good to meet you."

"You too." Neal came in, kicked the door shut behind him, and put the coffee down on the night table between the beds. "Morning, Peter. Coffee?"

Peter frowned at him. "What the – who the hell was that? And where were you? You know-"

Neal lifted a hand and looked concerned. "Hey, hey, take it easy. I woke up early. I figured you needed sleep more than I did, what with, you know…" He made a gesture that encompassed a long drive, his partner's ribs, his life in general - and still managed to convey some sense of guilt over them all without even trying. "Anyway. I thought –"

"Neal! You don't seem to realize that _I'm your escort_ here. If you got picked up this far outside your radius, unaccompanied –"

The younger man nodded, cutting him off. "Which is why I texted Tim, who has some friends in town." The agent opened his mouth but Neal beat him to it. "Mike is on the CART team here –" he paused as Peter's eyes grew wide, opened his coffee and took a sip. Then, with a nod of approval, he went back to his story. "Which is evidently the Computer Analysis and Response Team-"

"I know what CART is, Neal!" Peter blustered for a moment, then grabbed his own coffee as if it might contain a link to sanity. "_I'm_ the FBI agent, remember?"

"Right, right. Anyway, Tim gave me Mike's number, I took a chance and texted him, he came and picked me up and we went to the gym. Had a nice workout, a great game of racquetball. He's really good."

Peter stared. "The gym?"

"Yeah. At the FBI headquarters in town."

Peter flopped back a bit, shaking his head.

Neal blinked at him. "What? I left a note." He pointed at his bed, and sure enough, there was a piece of paper on his pillow. "It was really early, Peter. It's only been a week, and I know you're still healing…" His head dropped as he sat on the edge of his bed, and he sounded a little subdued even talking about it. "I promised Elizabeth you'd get some rest… and I knew I couldn't go without an FBI escort…" Blue eyes lifted tentatively. "Sorry if I upset you, but I thought it was the best thing."

There was a lengthy silence as Peter stared, incredulously. Eventually, he spoke. "Who _are_ you?"

"What do you mean?"

"_You_, Neal Caffrey, called an NCIS agent, to find an FBI agent _to go to the gym with_. What, there's no Albany version of Mozzie to pose as an agent?"

The younger man looked almost defensive. "Well, I don't have any… _contacts_ in Albany who might… have that kind of ID…" He frowned a bit, not sure where this was going.

"And you managed to find one. On a Saturday morning. In Albany."

Neal, feeling like he could do nothing right at this point, put down his coffee with an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry. I just was trying to –"

This time Peter cut him off. "Neal." The brown eyes softened with a gentle grin as he shook his head. "You did good." He took another sip of coffee and stretched carefully before he nodded. "I haven't slept this late in a while. I feel better for it." If the young con man didn't know any better, he would have said Peter actually looked proud when he said, "Thank you."

"Well, it's only nine…" But the blue eyes brightened once more. "But you're welcome." He grabbed the paper bag and rummaged in it. "I got something to tide us over. Muffin? Blueberry or cranberry orange?"

* * *

oOo

* * *

After showers and dressing, they packed up and left the motel. The industrial park was a little way out of town, and they found a truck stop near the thruway exit to actually get some breakfast and planning done. Peter picked up a local map, and Neal frowned at it. "You know, you have an app for that on your phone…"

"Yep. And you can't do this with a phone." He turned and introduced himself to the drivers who were sitting at the counter, inhaling caffeine. "Mornin', gentlemen. I'm Peter Burke, FBI." He flashed his badge with a smile, and the men nodded warily. "Any of you ever heard of Antrey storage? Over in the industrial park on Harris?" The men looked at him blankly for a moment.

"Antrey?"

"Yeah… it's supposed to be here –" He opened the map and indicated a general area, "somewhere."

The driver farthest from him gestured with his chin. "Who's in trouble?"

"A bastard who stole a lot from a lot of people," Peter answered. "You ever hear of Vincent Adler?"

This time there were only two blank looks, and some generalized nodding. "You remember, Dave. That rich guy who ran off with all the cash?"

'Dave' frowned. "Oh, wait. Didn't he…"

A younger trucker down the table shook his head. "I remember. It was in the union email. Teamsters were invested. To the tune of a couple million." There was a pause as this sank in and they remembered an abrupt dip in their retirement funds. "I heard he got shot."

Peter nodded with an inward sigh. "It's true. Adler's dead."

"Good riddance!"

Freshly angry, yet glad that it had nothing to do with trucking regulations, they all relaxed.

Peter went on. "Yes, well. He's gone… but we're cleaning up after one of his scams. Trying to find some packages he had delivered, we think maybe around here."

One of them drawled at Peter as he pointed at the freshly unfolded map. "Well, y'see, this road here, first left off Harris? It'll take you to the loadin' dock over at Sesway. Ask for Joe, tell him Bubba sent you. If anythin' came and went over there in the last three years, he'll know 'bout it. Or know who would."

Peter scribbled the names on the map. "I can't thank you gentlemen enough." He folded the map again and shook hands. "Be careful on the road."

They were out the door before Neal spoke, with some admiration.

"You knew the teamsters had money with Adler?"

Peter stared off in the distance as they walked back to the car, a slightly smug look on his face. "I can neither confirm nor deny having that information…"

* * *

oOo

* * *

The loading dock at Sesway was busy for half an hour when they first arrived, so they sat in the car and watched. Eventually things settled into a lull, and the two got out of the Taurus, walking casually over to the raised platform that the trucks backed up to with their goods. Peter called a greeting. "Morning. Anyone know where I can find 'Joe'?"

Several pairs of tired eyes looked up. "Who's asking?"

Peter smiled, and reached into his pocket. "The FBI." He flashed his badge, and all eyes turned to a scrawny, grizzled man who was probably a lot younger than he looked, considering how he vaulted off the platform and landed easily at ground level. The rest of the workers went back to what they were doing.

The man ambled over to them, wiping his neck with a bandana. "Yeah, yeah, I'm Joe. What'd'ya want?"

"Joe, my name's Peter Burke… this is my associate, Neal Caffrey. 'Bubba' said you might be able to help us. Do you have a few minutes?"

The man stared for a moment, surprisingly alert blue eyes staring out of a squinting, unshaven face. "Well?"

"You ever hear of 'Antrey Temporary Storage'?"

Joe took off his baseball cap and scratched his head with it. "Antrey… not so's I'd remember. It was supposed to be here? We get a lot of coming and going. With the economy and all."

Neal looked around impatiently, but Peter nodded. "Yeah. Don't know how long ago it was opened, maybe only in the last couple years?"

The man looked around the industrial park, and Neal couldn't help but admire his expression. As if he was a king surveying his domain. "Well… there was a new place about a year ago over by G&A. In fact, I think G&A took over the rest of the building when they moved in… you can check with them."

"Great. We will. Anyone there we should talk to?"

Neal watched the man and nearly smiled. _Which duke will he send us to? Which lord?_

"I'd say ask for George. George Jr., though. His father's pretty deaf."

Peter grinned and shook his hand. "Thanks, Joe. We appreciate the tip."

"Well, no promises. But good luck." Turning, he took a few running steps and vaulted back up onto the platform as easily as if he were mounting a horse. "If you see Bubba again, tell him to not be a stranger."

* * *

oOo

* * *

George Jr. was a busy man.

"Antrey? Oh, right, ATS… Don't have anything to do with them – never had anything going on over there - but there was a package delivered to 'em this week. Had that name on it. I thought it was pretty weird. I wasn't sure who to return it to, since it was one of the general trucks that dropped it off."

"General trucks?" Neal said, puzzled.

"Yeah, the whole industrial park has a delivery box – so they just throw everything onto a truck and one guy goes around dropping things about once a week. The little stuff you don't need a semi for, that is." He turned and walked back into his office. "Hang on, it's here somewhere." Grabbing a walkie-talkie from his desk, he pushed a button and said, "Josie?"

After a moment, a voice replied. "Go for Josie."

"Hey, kid, you know where that package that came in Wednesday ended up? The one for ATS, or something?"

A pause. "Yeaaah, hang on. You want it up front?"

"Yeah."

"Comin' up."

Peter and Neal looked at each other. George sat down at his desk. "She'll be up in a minute. Big warehouse."

"Thank you." They stood for a moment, Peter as calm as Neal was anxious. The older agent turned and spoke quietly. "Don't get your hopes up too high."

"I'm trying, but come on…"

The door opened in the back of the office, and a tall woman with a long red ponytail came in, easily carrying a large package. She handed it to Peter, who tried not to grunt when he realized how heavy it was. "There you go, Georgie. And the number three lift is acting up again."

"Damn." George blew out a breath as he got up to follow her. "If you guys can see yourselves out –"

"You want us to sign for this?" Something in Peter's expression must have registered, because Jr. nodded.

"Right, right." He took the package, handed it to Neal, and pulled a tag off of it. Giving the slip to Peter, he said, "Sign here."

The agent did, and, thanking them for their help, they left.

* * *

oOo

* * *

"I can't believe you're making us wait until we get back to the office to open it."

"It could be evidence now, Neal. Better to have it all authorized."

They had been on the road for close to an hour, heading back up to New York with the package in the back of the Taurus. Neal kept shifting restlessly.

"Or are you just worried I'm going to steal it?"

Peter shook his head with a smirk. "Oh, sure. That's what I'm worried about. Not at all worried about things getting complicated by -"

A sudden, sharp crack split the air, followed by the sound of glass breaking.

Peter's window was open, so when the shot rang out, it was Neal's window that shattered. "Get down!" Sirens sounded almost immediately, as Peter swerved across the highway.

"What the hell?" Neal risked a quick look up and back, and saw a yellow Viper following them. He couldn't make out a driver through the smoked glass, but felt Peter's hand on his shoulder, pushing him back out of sight.

"I said down!" The agent focused on his driving, keeping the bulk of his car between them and the Viper. Lights were flashing now on several cars near them.

Neal looked over at him, blue eyes wide. "Tell me you ordered an escort, and that they're on our side."

"They're ours. The Viper, however…"

At that moment the Viper cut across three lanes of traffic, leapt a gap to an exit ramp, and tore off down the adjoining highway. For a brief moment, Neal saw the driver as the car passed.

Icy blue eyes had looked at him, once, before she shook her head and turned away. He felt his heart pound as their eyes met, and it took all he had not to call out to her. _Kate._

Several of the plainclothes cars followed her, while several more followed the Taurus as Peter slowed, then pulled over. He was catching his breath when a man ran up to his window. "Agent Burke? Everyone all right in here?"

Peter took a deep breath and looked at Neal. "You okay?"

Neal was barely breathing. "It was her, Peter. It was Kate. I saw her!"

"I thought she might follow us. Are you okay?"

"As okay as I can be, considering we were just shot at. You?"

"I'm fine." Peter turned to the man standing at his window. "We're fine. Thanks for responding so quickly."

"No problem." The agent put his hand to his ear, listening to a report. "Suspect still under pursuit." He looked at them and shook his head, still listening. "Wow. They're afraid they're losing her. If she's getting away from Stevens, she must be good."

Neal growled under his breath. "I wouldn't exactly call her that."

* * *

oOo

* * *

They made it the rest of the way back to the FBI office in New York without incident, except for their escort changing to a couple of New York metropolitan agents near New Paltz. It had been pretty quiet in the car apart from the noise of the wide open window, and Neal was amazed at how calm Peter seemed to be. As if he was expecting this to happen, and once it had, he could relax.

Peter, for his part, kept his eyes open, and tried to stay relaxed enough to respond if he had to again. Occasionally he would glance over at his younger partner, knowing how much he hated guns to begin with – not to mention one being fired at him by a woman he loved – and kept reminding himself to breathe. Eventually a little grin graced his face. _At least he's distracted enough to stop thinking about what might be in the package._

When they reached the FBI offices it was nearly three o'clock and pretty quiet, being Saturday afternoon. They took the package down to the x-ray machine for a quick scan – which showed there was some metal in it, but nothing that could be mistaken for a bomb – and moved it into one of the interrogation rooms for privacy. For a long time they just stared at it. It was about two by three feet, a flat, heavy, ten inch thick box. "I should have pictures."

"Good idea."

The agent picked up a digital SLR from the cabinet near the door, checked the batteries, and handed it to Neal. "You shoot. As if you had to recreate this package. You'll know what to pay attention to better than me."

Neal nodded without noticing the compliment, and Peter switched on the video recorder. After every side was meticulously photographed, they began to carefully open it up.

_Peeling_ it was actually more like it, and the con man photographed every layer as it was exposed. Inside the cardboard packing was a wooden framework, and a thick layer of bubble wrap. Then another layer of paper, a sealed, waterproof plastic, and one more layer – this time of fine tissue. Neal nodded when they got to it, feeling it and giving it a sniff. "Acid-free. Archival. This was packed for long storage."

It became apparent as they lifted the last layer that they were looking at the back of a picture frame, the old paper that sealed the back of the frame still largely in place. For a few minutes they stared at it, Peter with his hands on his hips, Neal leaning over with his knuckles on the table. Finally, Peter spoke. "You want to do the honors?"

His partner lifted his eyebrows briefly. He lifted the heavy frame, and gingerly turned it over.

It was a renaissance style portrait of a young man. He wore a gathered white shirt under a black robe that draped easily across his shoulders, silvered trim giving him a regal look. A cap of black velvet with a single jewel rested on his dark hair, and the shaded, charcoal gray background brought out the light blue in his eyes. Neal swallowed hard, pushed the table over against the wall and rested the painting where they could look at it upright.

Peter looked at it thoughtfully, and finally spoke. "What do you think?"

Neal shook his head. "I've never seen it. It's completely new to me… Certainly fifteen hundreds, and in the style of a Raphael… he had a big school, though… still, it looks like it could be…" He shook his head again, biting his lower lip.

"Afraid to guess?"

"Afraid to be mistaken. This is beautiful, Peter. Absolutely beautiful."

"It is." The FBI agent took a deep breath. "Did you hear something shift when we turned it?"

Neal nodded, still unable to tear his eyes away.

"Will we hurt anything if we open the back?"

Neal's eyes widened. "I don't know if we should touch anything…"

Peter sighed, and reached for the painting. Gently he laid the frame face down once more, and leaned over to look at the paper on the back. Running his hand around the frame as if it were the window to a crime scene, he found that a section of the seal had broken cleanly. He pointed. "Picture here." Neal grabbed the camera and took a couple shots of the seal where the paper had come away from the frame, about ten inches along one side. Very gently, Peter took out a pocket knife and lifted the corner of the paper. Neal looked at him as if he were going to stab his mother. The agent gave him an exasperated look. "I'm not going to hurt it."

"Peter, I just don't know that –"

"Trust me. There's something here." With the paper slightly loosened, Peter lifted the frame and turned it face side up once more, tipping it toward the opening in the back. Something slid out from the space inside and landed on the table with a soft sigh, as if it had been waiting a long time to be found. Peter looked at Neal, still holding the painting, and their eyes met. Neal took a deep breath and blew it out. "You think someone kept cash in there?"

"Don't know," the younger man whispered, "But something."

Peter set the painting down carefully against the wall once more, and Neal lifted what had slid out of the space. It was a large, ancient envelope, hardly more than a larger sheet folded around a couple smaller ones. He looked up at Peter desperately. "I don't know how well this is going to hold up to being opened. The folds may crack…"

"Listen, Neal. If I had something of value that I needed opened carefully – you'd be the one I called. Just… do it." He gave his partner a reassuring grin. "I trust you."

The younger man's eyes widened as his head tilted for a moment. "Okay." He looked closely at the outer paper, frowned, and set it back down to take a picture of it. Then he turned it over, gently unfolded the top sheet, and slipped the other papers out of it. The first one was covered in crabbed writing, and Neal's eyes narrowed as he tried to read it, his lips moving as he shook his head.

"What is it?"

"…not sure… Italian. Really old Italian. I'm a little rusty." He set it aside for a moment, looking at the layers beneath. He lifted the cover sheet gently, and stared. "Oh… "

On the ancient vellum was a beautifully rendered sketch of the painting. It was done in black and red chalk that had held up surprisingly well. Neal's breath was coming a little faster as he set the sketch down, reached for the sheet of writing, remembered the camera and reached for it instead with a trembling hand. Peter put a hand on his wrist. "I'll take the picture. What are you seeing?"

Neal nodded, unable to speak. He picked up the letter and scanned it, his eyes growing wide as he mumbled a few words here and there. He reached the bottom and landed in the chair behind him, not so much _sitting_ as his knees giving out. "Oh, God…"

"Neal?" Peter was trying to be patient, but clearly, something was going on. "Talk to me."

"It's…" Neal's voice cracked. "It's a contract. To do this portrait. There are two signatures at the bottom, here…"

Unhesitating, Peter focused and took another picture. "Yes?"

"This is the sketch that was approved by the client…the sketch, Peter. The original sketch."

"Neal…"

Unable to speak, his tongue suddenly thick, Neal pointed to the bottom of the document again. "It says... this says… the artist, who _signed_ this contract, who did _this_ preliminary sketch, who _painted_ this painting… Peter, it says '_Raffaello Sanzio'." _ He set down the contract, and stared at the painting once more.

"It _is_ a Rafael."

Even Peter looked surprised. With a broad smile, he looked at his partner, not altogether surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"And you've never seen it?" Neal nodded. "And you're an expert… that means it's completely possible that no one's ever seen this, except the family of the man who contracted for it – and the people who stole it".

Neal nodded again. After a few minutes, he whispered hoarsely. "Who knows what else is out there?"

Peter put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find out, partner. One piece at a time."

* * *

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

_please feed the author…_

Thanks to all who came along for the ride, and especial thanks to the readers who leave reviews along the way… it is appreciated more than I can say.

Best,

Miran


	16. Loose Ends

…_okay, so I couldn't resist a bit more… I'm not sure about continuing or not, but there are, indeed, loose ends...  
_

* * *

oOo

_**Collar 2.6.1: Loose Ends**_

oOo_**  
**_

* * *

Mozzie had received a breathless call from Neal that afternoon about the painting, and was smiling as he walked to the post office - taking his usual circuitous route. No sense in making it easy for someone who might be following him. As he entered the large building he slipped on soft black leather gloves and walked casually over to the wall of tiny doors. He found his box number and fiddled with the absurdly large bundle of keys in his pocket until he located the one for _this_ number box at _this_ post office – which happened, for the time being, to be the mailing address for Tuesday. The door swung open easily and there it was - a catalog from his favorite Russian Army surplus provider. A _very_ exclusive offering indeed. He pulled it out with a smug, satisfied smile, but then frowned. A small crumpled yellow packing envelope had fallen out of the rolled catalog.

_I didn't order anything to this box, did I? _

His pulse raced suspiciously as he checked the envelope. It was this address all right, to the name 'Hugh Hefner Jr.'. Moz relaxed and chortled a bit. It had to be someone who knew him. Then he looked at the return address and the blood rushed from his face.

There was no name, no street. Simply the number _3_.

Looking furtively around as he left the building and walked quickly toward the subway, he ducked into a nook out of the public view. His hands were shaking just a bit as he carefully took scissors out of his bag to open the envelope, keeping it pointing away from his face, just in case. When nothing seemed to explode and no powder escaped, he tipped the contents carefully out onto his gloved palm.

It was a flash drive. Small, scribbled letters on it in permanent marker spelled out 'Mah-Z', along with another '3' beneath it.

Mozzie swallowed hard, looked around as he put the catalog and envelope into his carry-all, and headed quickly home to Tuesday. He was so thrown that he took a direct route, only remembering at the last minute to overshoot his address and come around from the other side of the block.

When he finally sat down in front of his computer, he stared at the drive in his hand for a good five minutes before taking a deep breath and plugging it into his USB port. There were three files on the drive when it opened. One was a video file, with the title 'watch me'.

For a moment he hesitated. Then he shook his head, punching up his far-from-ordinary scanning software. It took three minutes for the program to run, but the file came up with a clean bill of health. With no excuses left, he double clicked on 'watch me', even though his hand was shaking as he did so. The lighting in the video was dim, but he recognized the face instantly. And even if he hadn't, the voice was a dead giveaway.

"Hey, Moz, my man."

It was a shock, even with his suspicions. The video showed a very tired, cheerful Trey. Moz felt his eyes watering in spite of himself as he listened to his old friend. The image of Trey that leapt to the front of his mind was the last time Moz saw him; a limp and bloody body in the hospital. He tried to shake it off and listened.

"Yeah, I know this isn't what we planned… but I'm telling you, man, I'm worried I'll forget something. I'm sending this part of the code as a backup, just in case, especially since where I'm going there's no computer access… yet." Trey gave a wide smile and a hearty, albeit tired laugh. "I'm leaving the laptop in the same old locker at the bus station… gonna drop it off as soon as I get this flash in the mail. Then I'm off to the airport…" he laughed, and then grew serious, his eyes moist. "I have to thank you, Moz. I have to… being able to retire, get back to my roots… this is the best thing that ever happened to me. Really, man. Thanks." He wiped at his eyes, and laughed again. "Okay, you _know_ I'm tired. I'm outta here. Love you, man. Have a great life."

The video ended. For a long moment, Moz sat and stared at his monitor. Then he blinked, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. He found himself almost angry as he pulled himself together. _Okay, what now? This'll be useless without the laptop… and Peter and Neal left it with those forensic guys in DC…_ With a few deft strokes, Moz was searching bus schedules to the nation's capital. Then he picked up his phone and typed a text.

_Another voice from beyond. I'll be back in couple days._

* * *

oOo

* * *

After they filed their reports about the painting, Peter dropped Neal at his apartment to shower and change. "I'll go home and do the same, let El know what's going on… and should be back in plenty of time to pick Sara up at the airport. Sound good?"

Neal couldn't help but grin. Peter sounded like he was driving his little brother to the prom. "Sounds great." It seemed like no time at all until there was a knock on the door, and he strode out of the bedroom to answer it. When he opened the door, it was all he could do to keep from laughing.

Peter stood there, wearing a dark jacket and a cabby hat. "You call for a ride?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. Let me grab my coat."

* * *

oOo

* * *

Later that evening on the roof, Neal told the story about recovering the painting as they sipped wine and nibbled cheese. Sara listened with rapt attention, noticing a few blank spaces in his tale.

"That's quite a story."

"Really. It's been a hell of a week."

"So…" Her eyes drifted down to her glass as she ran a delicate finger around the edge. "Are you planning to tell me anything real about Kate?"

"Sara…"

"I'd like to know."

The con man sighed, and looked long and hard at the woman sitting next to him on the roof. "I'm not comfortable admitting this, Sara."

"Okay." She blinked once or twice, and then looked up at the stars, her voice a bit chilly. "It's entirely up to you."

"No, it's not what you think… well, maybe it is. Sara… I couldn't believe it when Kate showed up again. It was…" He paused, and she looked at him as he frowned at the table. "I thought she was dead all this time, and then she was just… there."

Even though she felt unsure, Sara couldn't help but feel his pain. "It must have been a shock. I can't imagine, Neal."

"Thank you… but that wasn't the worst part. It was finding out she'd been conning me all along." He took a deep breath, and seemed to be steeling himself. "I'm going to be entirely honest with you."

Sara sighed. "Good luck with that."

His voice hardened a bit. "I'm serious, Sara. I'm not going to apologize for falling back into her arms, because I did love her. But I can't tell you how much it hurts to know that I've been fooled by her all this time. I feel…"

Sara felt a strange combination of feelings. Hurt, anger, but still… an affectionate sadness for the man. Her anger, however, bubbled to the surface, and she couldn't help but push the obvious point home.

"Neal, she's a con." She put her glass down and he looked up, blue eyes open and vulnerable. "Maybe now you know how it feels. How Peter has felt. How everyone who cares about you has felt…"

He looked like she slapped him.

"Sara –"

"It's true, and you know that. I don't blame you for 'falling into her arms' again either – I'm well aware we don't have anything exclusive."

For a long while they sat silently in the moonlight.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was small and quiet. "Thank you."

Now it was her turn to look surprised. "For what?"

"For being honest with me. For listening. And for still sitting there…"

_Damn, he can be charming when he's vulnerable._

She fiddled with her glass. "Well…"

"Sara. I know things are kind of off right now… but … maybe after a while…"

"After a while, what?"

He looked at her, and the hopeful, charming smile lit up the night. "I'm just thinking, that if we both feel like it… well… maybe there _could_ be something exclusive?"

She stared into his eyes, unbelieving. Could they really be this honest with each other? "I'm not sure, Neal. I'm really not sure what's real and what's not…" He nodded, his eyes not leaving hers, and after a moment she shook her head with a surrendering shrug. "But I guess I'm willing to see what happens."

He smiled again and leaned toward her, pausing to look from her lips to her eyes once more. "That's really all I can ask." Then he kissed her, softly.

* * *

oOo

* * *

An hour later, they chill of the evening had chased them inside, and they sat comfortably on the couch together. As usual, physical contact let them find their way back to some kind of détente.

"Wait until you see the painting. You'll love it. It's absolutely amazing."

"Where is it?"

"Locked up at the FBI office, for now. Peter's going to have Diana work on translating the contract. Archaic Italian. Should be fun for her."

Sara shook her head. "I wish I _could_ see it."

A smug grin crept across Neal's face. "So… come to the office and see it." He pulled her close, his lips nearly brushing hers. "I can get us in…"

She tilted her head back skeptically. "Tell me you aren't suggesting that you break in to show it to me." One eyebrow lifted delicately. "Or worse, that you're using this as an excuse to 'pick it up'."

He gave her his best affronted look. "Sara, please. I do have a passcard."

"Mmhmm. And I'm sure the Raphael is just laying out on a table in the bullpen…"

"Well," he shrugged. "I'm sure I can find my way into –"

"No." She was smiling, but her tone was quite serious. "I'd like to think that you can stay out of trouble for a day or two."

"Hey! I've been very good this week… just ask Peter."

"I may just do that." She smirked at him and gave him a kiss anyway, just as his phone beeped a text. "I suppose you should check that." He smiled.

"Later."

In the bedroom, the curtains billowed in at the window.

* * *

oOo

* * *

Peter returned home after dropping Sara and Neal at his apartment, and was whistling cheerfully as he walked in. Elizabeth came downstairs when she heard the door, and giggled when she saw him.

"Did he like the hat?"

"Loved it. Not his style, though he said it suited me." He wrapped her in a hug, looking over her shoulder into the living room, and made a surprised noise. "So, Mrs. Burke. What's all this?"

"I heard you say that Neal and Sara were doing wine and cheese, and it inspired me. I thought we might watch a movie?"

Peter looked appreciatively at the coffee table, which was spread with all kinds of gourmet hors d'oeuvres, two glasses, and a bottle of pinot noir. "El, this is fantastic."

She smiled. "Well, it wasn't that much work. I had a tasting this afternoon, and took samples."

"Perfect. What are we watching?"

They settled down and chatted and nibbled, happy to steal a moment of calm, happy to be back in their own little world.

* * *

oOo

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, Moz walked into the bowling alley and looked around. Between a live band and the sounds of pins crashing, the noise level was nearly painful. He stood for a moment, then saw what he was looking for - A group of identically dressed women in black, cheering each other on wildly as they played. Panels of white in their outfits were glowing bluish in the black light.

Only one of the group was dressed a bit differently, and she was sitting at the scoreboard - a large container of cola in one hand as she absently shook out the other. The tee shirt she wore under a black jumper was glowing brightly enough to cast light up on her face and dark pigtails.

The little man took a breath, walked over and tapped her on the shoulder. The woman turned and frowned for a moment in the dim light, then jumped to her feet and hugged him with reckless abandon as she realized who he was.

"Mozzie!"

* * *

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

_…please feed the author..._


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